Dementia
by Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure
Summary: CHAPTER 14 UP! Elves are disappearing. With no one else to turn to, Legolas looks to Aragorn for help, unintentionally leading the human into the darkest peril either of them has ever encountered. A secret and powerful evil broods in Esg
1. The Remnants of the Balchoth

**Yes, this is early. :D Well. I am going to be packing for the rest of the week (I am going to Boulder Colorado for a little family reunion/vacation) , Tinlaure is just getting back from Texas and so I am crunched for time (this probably means I won't post for the rest of this week and next. My deepest apologies). But I was dying to post this first chapter and get that off my chest so to speak. Anyway...I am sure you don't mind an early post. LOL **

**By now you probably know that we LOVE reviews, so if you could drop one in for us to read, that would be great:P Your opinions DO matter:D Thanks! **

Dementia

**by**

Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure

**Summary:** Elves are disappearing. With no one else to turn to, Legolas looks to Aragorn for help, unintentionally leading the human into the darkest peril either of them has ever encountered. A secret and powerful evil broods in Esgaroth, an evil that won't rest without blood, gold, power and ultimate victory –or death. How much will Legolas and Aragorn be forced to give? How much will those closest to their hearts?

**The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for the good men to do nothing.  
- Edmund Burke**

**Rated:** P-13 -for now...though it could possibly shift to R in the near future. If it does progress into being rated R we expect you to be responsible for the content that you read.

**Disclaimer:** We own nothing from "Lord of the Rings" or any other works of works of J.R.R. Tolkien. We also are not getting paid.

**Additional notes:** We love our character, Rothinzil, who has appeared in all of our stories. Please don't steal him, as sweet and endearing as he is! ;) Since we are new posting in this rating zone, if you don't know about him we will try to explain who he is as we go. There is a pic of him on our website. Hopefully you will have no trouble getting attached to him.

Also, other stories in this series include (Chronological order of time period):

_The Bittersweet_; _Reflection_; _All That's Left of Yesterday_; _The Folly of Men_; _Ripples_; _Masquerade_; _I Will Always Return_

This one takes place somewhere between _Ripples_ and _Masquerade_.

Review! We love reviews:D 

:0Ї0:

_Dementia_

**Chapter One**

The Remnants of the Balchoth

**Matthew: It's a conspiracy.**

**Jack Bellicec: What's a conspiracy?**

**Matthew: _Everything_.**

**W.D. Richter, _Invasion of the Bodysnatchers_ (1978)**

:0Ї0:

Dwarves… they were stout, annoying, ugly, bad-tempered…

"We can assure you, Prince Legolas, that we know absolutely nothing about any missing Elves," King Dáin stressed politely, levelling Legolas with a dark and irritated look. They had been repeating this conversation for a few hours now, even though it was possible that he could have miscalculated and a century had passed.

Rothinzil saw Legolas return the look. He makes the look even more impressing, Roth thought idly as he sat quietly by his prince, cross-legged on the ground. He didn't exactly approve of Legolas' actions but he would never openly question his lord, especially in such circumstances. They definitely did not contain favourable elements, he mused inwardly, with dwarves and caves. The dwarves didn't bother him at all (as Legolas often told him was one of his flaws), but he knew just how much they irked Legolas.

Aragorn tugged gently at Roth's elbow, drawing the drowsy Elf out of his reveries. Motioning for the Elf to lean towards him, Aragorn waited for the warrior to comply before whispering, "They are going to be at this for quite a while, I think. Would you want to go and explore a bit?"

Roth looked reluctant to leave his prince's side, and he looked from Aragorn to the prince and then took a deep interest in the dirt floor. "Strider, I don't think-"

"Exactly! Don't think! Just come with me! I am chafing here!" the human begged in a whisper, pulling on Roth's elbow some more.

Roth pulled his elbow free and glowered at the human. "No! I can't!" He pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly torn between stretching his muscles and protecting his lord.

Aragorn sighed inaudibly. "What is the worst that could happen in a few hours?" Dáin seemed far from becoming angry. On the contrary, the dwarven king looked amused, especially when it seemed obvious that Legolas was refraining from sputtering in frustration.

Roth frowned disapprovingly at the ranger. "That was a tasteless joke."

Aragorn had to think for a few seconds to concede Roth's point and he nodded. Yes, it was rather tasteless. Saying something like that usually boded nothing but trouble later. He looked suspiciously up at the ceiling above their heads and the pillars holding them up, as though they could spontaneously collapse. He had asked for it after all. "You are right, mellon nîn."

Roth was about to comment further when he heard Legolas use the _tone_, the one that would frighten any sane person out of their mind if they had any idea what it meant. Roth shook his head inwardly. _He_ knew what it meant and he knew that it would only be a matter of time before Legolas was looking for victims. Smiling conspiratorially to hide a shudder, he asked brightly, "Where do you want to go first?"

These were the Halls of the King under the Mountain after all. There were many interesting places, or at least if there weren't, there should be.

Aragorn returned the smile, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Shhh…follow me."

Roth started to follow the ranger, who was more or less slinking out of the room. Strangely, he didn't feel the least bit guilty. He hoped that it was easy to get lost in this place because if Legolas found him later he knew that it would be better if he entombed himself. Dwarves were not exactly endeared to Legolas. Catching up to Aragorn at a slight jog, he eased up when he was at the ranger's side.

"You are as bad as a child"! Aragorn chided with a broad grin, looking sideways at the tall, slender Elf. He poked the warrior in the arm with his finger accusingly. "And you know it, don't you?"

Roth looked scandalized and shook his dark head. "I am sure that I have no idea what you are talking about." However serious his expression was his voice was very belying and Aragorn chuckled quietly as two dwarf-sentinels obligingly pulled the doors open, allowing them to exit King Dáin's spacious hall.

"I am sure that you don't," he said sarcastically.

Once the doors had shut and the two were loose in the Dwarven realm, the Elf inclined his head and stared accusingly at the human, arching a brow in a way that clearly said he was trying to appear appalled. "And _what_ was that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Aragorn explained with a cheeky grin, "that you are still wet behind the ears."

Roth scowled darkly, hastily trying to hide his amusement. "I will make you eat those words, _pen-neth_. That's pretty big talk for one who only reached maturity a couple of years ago."

Aragorn snorted in a failed attempt not to laugh and behave somberly. "Is it now? And when did you come to maturity then, Elfling?"

Roth grinned amiably, not minding being the victim of the banter, and gave Aragorn a playful shove backward. All of the energy that had pent up during the negotiations was coming out and more than one dwarf gave them a questioning look as they hastened past. Aragorn was right and Roth knew it. He was as undignified and as immature as a child, and a human child at that. "At least two thousand years ago."

Aragorn, of course, already knew this. Rothinzil was at least five-hundred years younger than Legolas. He whistled in mock surprise. "And married with your wife expecting already?" Aragorn watched amusedly as Rothinzil's grin broadened proudly at the mention of Helluin. The warrior flushed slightly at the attention. "Congratulations, mellon nîn," Aragorn congratulated his friend, slapping Roth warmly on the back. "You'll make a great father."

The Elf smiled down at the human and his Elven glow expanded, giving the cheerful warrior a bright aura that caused a few dwarves to scowl in annoyance as they passed by. Apparently, Roth thought with mild bewilderment, there were more beings other than orcs that could find pleasure in the dark itself. Dwarves were sensible creatures, were they not? Well, Roth thought so anyway, so he simply could not understand why they chose to live in the dark like this.

Well, maybe they were actually scowling at the sight of an Elf in their levels, the dark-haired Elf amended hopefully.

The warrior suddenly found Aragorn's arm hooking his and the ranger attempted to coerce him along down the broad corridor that the dwarves referred to as a 'road'. Looking at the human blankly, Roth didn't move and queried uncertainly, "Um, Strider, what are we doing? Or should I say, what are _you_ doing?"

Aragorn looked puzzled for a moment and gave Roth a quizzical look. "We are going to have fun. We have been sitting for hours and if we don't do something soon my eye will start twitching."

Rothinzil raised a brow, looking completely incredulous and snickered slightly at the mental image of Aragorn with a twitching eye. "Very well," he complied with a nod, hooking Aragorn's arm in return. "Shall we?" He smiled brightly, causing a few more dwarves to scowl disapprovingly.

Since when were happy Elves allowed down here? Or more importantly, when did they start allowing Elves into here at all?

"Oh yes, let's!" Aragorn said enthusiastically.

It did not take the joyous pair long to find a place that served malt-beverages and had expedient as well as courteous service. Rothinzil sighed with relief. Legolas would never even consider coming in here, so for now he was safe. A few of these dwarves Rothinzil knew from when they would venture into Lake Town and before the ranger could protest he dragged Aragorn towards the paltry crowd of friendly faces.

"Well if it isn't that young pup, Rothinzil!" One of the grey-bearded dwarves bellowed out his welcome, slapping his thigh with amusement. Despite the dwarf's aged leathery face and his scraggly, grey beard it was ironic that he called Roth a 'young pup.' Aragorn snickered under his breath. Oh, if Legolas could see this…

"Hello there Farin," Roth said genially, seating himself on the proffered stool to the dwarf's right. Aragorn hauled up a chair that was idly sitting nearby doing nothing better than collecting dust –something that there was an abundance of throughout the dwarven realm.

The dwarf flashed a toothy grin, pleasantly surprised that the Elf had remembered his name. Aragorn just shook his head, wondering how long it would take for Legolas to hunt Roth down and shoot him full of arrows. It probably wouldn't take very long, Aragorn mused drolly, because although Rothinzil was very intelligent as far as Elves went he wasn't overly clever or nimble on his feet. It was another one of those things about Roth that Helluin so kindly referred to as "adorable".

Before they were too deeply engrossed in conversation, Roth leaned towards Aragorn and whispered, "I suppose we had best not mention anything about why Legolas and we are here."

Aragorn nodded imperceptivity. "Probably not," he agreed, talking so only Roth could hear.

A round of the house-brew was ordered for everyone, all generously at Farin's expense.

:0Ї0:

Legolas eyed the pillars that lined the 'road' darkly; having left King Dáin's Halls about half an hour ago. He couldn't believe when they had first come here that Aragorn had dared to comment on them resembling the Halls of his father. These were built only from stone, the designs were hideous and didn't flow together, Legolas assured himself mentally, and that was the difference. Elves simply made far better craftsmen these days. There was no denying that Menegroth had been gorgeous and bested Thranduil's Halls without question but those talents were all but gone within the dwarven race.

He would have to discuss it further when he found the ranger, which wouldn't take very long.

It wasn't too hard to find information on a solitary ranger and an Elf in these parts, and the inhabitants were so nice about informing you too, Legolas added sarcastically. His upper lip curled slightly in contempt.

He knew that Rothinzil was going to insist that this search was all Aragorn's fault, though Legolas didn't know why because Roth knew he wouldn't fall for that. The warrior was many things, including a bumbling nuisance, but he wasn't stupid and as a matter of fact, he was perfectly capable of being devious on his own. Aragorn might have encouraged or even instigated it, but blaming it entirely on the ranger simply wouldn't be fair.

He found the tavern where he knew the two 'refugees' to be hiding, which made him feel a little better because there were many taverns and the dwarves' directions were anything but clear -or friendly. Glaring at the door of the place as though he was trying to burn holes through it with his eyes, the prince finally ventured to open it and enter.

Instantly he came to the conclusion that he had not ever regretted something so fast in his entire life. A fog of smoke, steam and many different sweet and sour smells clouded his senses and created a strange floating sensation. Gagging silently, the prince worked on wading through the swarms of dwarves, which couldn't have looked more irked at the sight of the blonde Elf, and towards the back where he was sure he would find his quarry. It was a just a feeling he had.

There was one thing he had learnt over the years in all the travel he had done: Rothinzil's voice was unmistakable. It wasn't abnormally high or low or even heavily accented, but once you've heard it, you knew that it was Rothinzil. Legolas had been hearing it for a little over two thousand years.

"Yes, stubborn ranger!"

Oh yes, Legolas thought. Even without the "stubborn ranger" added on the end he knew without a doubt that Roth was just ahead of him. When he got his hands on that Elf's skinny skulking neck he was going to…

"No! You foolish Wood-Elf!" he heard Aragorn's voice protest.

Sighing as he drew closer, careful not to provoke his prey, mind you, Legolas decided that he didn't even want to know what had caused such a heated debate between the two of them. Of course, once they were dead it wouldn't matter. A conspiratorial grin split his face, one that had been known to send Roth running for the nearest tree with climbable branches.

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Maybe!" a deadpanned voice interjected.

"Ye…" Roth's voice trailed off and he slowly turned and looked over his shoulder, with an expression that said he expected nothing less than to see a big, green, voracious, and rather mythical monster behind him. Swallowing audibly he faced what he knew he must. "An interesting way to, ah, make an entrance, my Lord."

He was using _the smile_, and Roth groaned inwardly. Aragorn merely snickered, much to the warrior's annoyance. Flushing slightly, Roth stammered, "I…ah…you know how devious rangers are. Well, he…"

If the dark-haired Elf didn't slide off his stool and under the table Aragorn would be impressed. And somewhere, deep in his heart he had the diabolical notion that he really wanted the warrior to slide under the table, or at least that was what he thought the hiding chorus of laughter inside of him meant.

"Oh, of course, Roth," Legolas said reassuringly, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder in a restraining way that made Roth more nervous than it helped. "I understand."

Roth tried to put a bright face on things and grinned with relief. "Oh, good then!" he said cheerily.

"I understand that you left me alone with King Dáin and those other insufferable…… insufferable cave walls," Legolas amended, in order not to offend the numerous dwarves nearby.

Roth's stomach clenched. Aragorn just gave him the how-stupid-do-you-think-your-prince-is look, which caused the warrior to shoot him a scathing glare. "You never commanded me to stay," Rothinzil reminded promptly, still forcing his grin as well as trying his secret weapon…

He was using those irresistible puppy-eyes! Legolas noted mentally, glowering over the cheap trick. Roth's round hazel eyes made him look about ten times as young and innocent as he actually was and Legolas knew that he should have never put such a low move beneath the other Elf.

"True enough, but I would have expected my two closest friends to stay with me."

Roth's eyes dropped to the floor guiltily so Aragorn dutifully took up the argument. "I forced him to. He did want to stay with you Legolas, but you know how insufferable I can be." Rothinzil cast Aragorn a grateful smile, which Legolas thankfully didn't notice. "And you know how impressionable Roth is."

Roth glowered darkly at the ranger. With friends like Aragorn who needed enemies? He asked himself silently, shooting the human a threatening look.

"Yes," Legolas grinned wickedly, squeezing Roth's shoulder tightly enough to cause him minor discomfort, "yes, I do."

This was too much and Roth pulled his shoulder free, twisting his head around to glower at the fair-haired menace standing behind him. Legolas stepped back a pace, grinning broadly, obviously very amused. "Sometimes I think that you are all against me," Roth hissed, finally irritated.

"You know, Roth," Legolas contemplated openly, "I was going to kill you for this, but that look on your face is priceless." Rothinzil looked even more flustered, if that were possible. He needed to stop trying to appreciate or understand Legolas' sense of humour, he told himself, because it was impossible. There was nothing to understand.

"Have you ever been told that you are mean, my Lord?" he growled, turning his back demonstratively on the other Elf, scarlet to the tips of his ears.

Legolas smiled amiably at his friend's back, admitting brightly, "Yes, all the time."

Taking a seat by Roth since the dwarves had long ago decided that they didn't want to be around when Legolas murdered the warrior and ranger, the prince asked casually, "So what was the 'yes-no' business about?"

Aragorn and Roth exchanged contemptuous glares with one another. "Not that you need start it up again," Legolas added quickly.

"Oh no, that is alright. It was just that we were arguing over whether or not a passer-by was a dwarf-woman or not. I insist that _she_ was, but Strider here has other opinions," Rothinzil confessed shamelessly, casting Aragorn an I-am-right-you-are-wrong look that was childish in its implementation.

"Never mind, I don't want to know." Legolas shook his head before rubbing his hands down his face wearily. He didn't get tired often, but he was tired now.

Troubled, Aragorn dared to venture the question. "So, you found nothing out?"

Legolas looked at the human from between his fingers, which were covering his face. "Nothing. They can tell me 'absolutely nothing' about the disappearance of Elves."

There was a dead silence that thickened the air between the three friends.

"Maybe they really did drown when the barrels were smashed," Roth said calmly, his eyes looking distant as he recalled events from previous days.

Legolas shook his head. It simply wasn't possible. The barrels that he and Roth had found had been broken into splintered bits upon some sharp rocks jutting out of the river. However, they had been unable to locate any of the Elven rafts-men who were taking them back to the Lake Men. It had been an unfortunate event indeed and the river and Lake itself had been searched thoroughly for bodies. None were found. At least with no bodies found there was still hope that the Elves were alive, but Legolas didn't understand why they didn't simply come home.

"Do you think that they are hiding anything?" Roth asked eagerly, inclining his head to the side and staring intently at Legolas. He was literally sitting on the edge of his chair with barely contained excitement.

Legolas just stared blankly at Roth, trying to figure out what the younger Elf could possibly be so enthusiastic about, but he was unable to reach any conclusions. Unless…no, surely Roth knew better than to be hopeful for adventure? Sincerely hoping so, the prince forced a level-headed expression, and replied honestly, "No. Not likely."

Roth wrinkled his normally smooth forehead, clearly confused, and quirked a brow, looking searchingly at his friend and liege. "Then _what_ has happened, my lord?"

Legolas didn't answer, namely because he was too disturbed by the fact that he had no idea. Nothing was adding up and if it had been disquieting before it was gradually becoming frightening now. It was like trying to find a way to prove that three plus one equalled five. "I don't know Roth."

Roth just shifted uncomfortably and found an interest in his hands which were resting uselessly in his lap.

Aragorn sighed over exuberantly, causing Roth to raise his head. "Well, this trip has been very helpful." His voice contained more sarcasm than Legolas possessed the patience to consciously ignore.

"Let us be honest: it was a waste, a total waste!" Legolas said exasperatedly. This confession didn't make him feel any better. In fact it only made him angrier and more frustrated to think that he had put up with the most obnoxious dwarves ever placed on Arda –and all by himself he might add- for no purpose whatsoever.

"It wasn't a total waste," Roth offered optimistically, looking with evident distress at his lord and friend. His hazel eyes were dimmed with sympathy. "Now we know who didn't do it. It shortens the list."

Legolas' glare became more intense and he inadvertently aimed it at the warrior. "Yes, well, let me think, who and what have we ruled out so far? The orcs, the Dwarves, the trees, the Lake itself, the Taurduin…"

Roth just seemed to shrink, looking remarkably like a puppy that had just been reprimanded by a beloved master. "I didn't mean it that way, Legolas. I was simply trying to be hopeful." His voice was soft and apologetic.

Shaking his head as though to clear it of the morbid thoughts and dark shadows, the prince studied Aragorn and Rothinzil sorrowfully "I am sorry, both of you. I am just frustrated." Legolas was a bit surprised at his own sudden irritability, as the pain in Roth's voice had snapped him out of his frustrated mood.

Aragorn understood his friend's exasperation without Legolas even trying to explain himself. He had been there when they had received the news about the missing Elves whereas Roth had not. Thranduil had meant well by telling Legolas to be careful and do his best to find out what had happened, but without meaning to he had laid quite a burden upon his son. For Legolas, failure was not an option and since they were bordering dangerously close to it already, it was understandable that the prince's patience was going to run short. "It is quite all right, mellon nîn," Aragorn assured with a thin smile.

Rothinzil nodded supportively, and he added, "Of course it is, my Lord."

Legolas smiled genuinely at the endearing look on his friends' faces and shook his head slowly. No, it wasn't all right. Nothing here was, but it was more than refreshing (as well as reassuring) that he had friends that were so understanding and accepting. Sighing dejectedly, he gave the cave walls and the stone ceiling boxing them in a scathing glare. They had been surrounded by stone all day and Legolas was longing to feel the sun warming his face. His mouth seemed to taste the dust of the dirty atmosphere, and the stale air was really beginning to stick in his throat. "Maybe some fresh air would help. We must at least have a few hours until dark."

His suggestion was warmly received and Roth all but vaulted to his feet. However, a loud clap of thunder that was powerful enough to be heard under the soil caused him to jolt and bang against Legolas, startled. It must have been storming for some time, he noted dully, for he had heard little rumblings from time to time and thought they were dwarves mining or something along those lines. Apparently, the storm had only recently become forceful enough to be heard down in these depths. "Perfect," he muttered, slouching back down onto his seat between his friends, a very disappointed look clouding his face.

Legolas' brows came together in a frown. It was mid-summer and evening thunderstorms were inevitable because the lake's water evaporated and condensed thoughout the heat of day, forming large ominous clouds. The thought of being stuck down here in caves and the company of dwarves was enough to cause a tingle of dread to travel down his spine and he shuddered slightly.

Aragorn just studied both of the Elves, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.

Rothinzil didn't look very upset at all, at least not about staying with dwarves, but the warrior was eyeing the walls distrustfully. So far, they remained stationary, but no matter how much the realistic portion of his mind pleaded with him, the more imaginative side promised that they would close in. Legolas was glaring at everything as though this was all some vast conspiracy that involved even the minutest crumbs on the floor.

Out of nowhere boisterous laughter erupted from the young human.

Both of the Elves looked at him as though he had finally lost his mind beyond hope of recovery. Their wide-eyed confused expressions only caused him to laugh even harder, so that his breathing hitched.

The dwarves were staring at the Elves and ranger as though they carried the plague and did their best to avoid coming within a ten foot radius of the table. Even the heavily intoxicated dwarves were managing this, Legolas noticed amusedly.

"Strider, what, if you don't mind my asking, is so funny?" The prince was wondering if he had missed something at some point during their conversation. While Aragorn was slowing his breathing enough to come up with an answer he skimmed through all that he remembered saying. Nothing should have caused such a reaction from a sensible, relatively normal person.

Roth was starting to look nervous. He was sitting between them, after all, which was something that was about as dangerous as trying to navigate in no-man's land.

"You both are!" Aragorn finally managed between snickers and the spasms of his diaphragm. Was it possible to die from suffocation caused by laughter?

Legolas' threatening glower only ignited Aragorn's laughter anew. Roth smiled uncertainly. "And what, my friend, is so amusing about us?"

"I am sure that I have seen one or both of you looking happier in a prison cell," the human declared somewhat cheekily, only realizing seconds later how unusual it was that he was even able to make such a comparison based on personal experience. Or rather, he corrected, it _should_ be unusual.

Legolas' expression didn't change and his voice became unnervingly calm while retaining its sarcasm. "Is that so? How amusing."

Well, Aragorn thought dejectedly, one couldn't please everyone, least of all stubborn Wood-Elves. He had thought it was funny anyway. Becoming more serious, he cleared his throat and said, "Well, we have more time to talk now anyway. And the fire glowing in the corner is rather cosy."

Neither Legolas nor Rothinzil looked anything along the lines of being appeased or amused.

"Who needs a fire in summer anyway?" Legolas asked a bit stiffly, garnering a glare from a dwarf who had just added a few more logs to the flames. The fire sputtered hungrily and small sparks of red danced in the air. And what on earth had made the human think that they were staying here?

Aragorn shrugged dismissively. "It probably gets draughty underground."

The questionable expressions of the Elves' darkened to menacing degrees.

"I can't believe you two," Aragorn said disbelievingly, shaking his head. "You would rather go outside in a storm than stay in here?"

Rothinzil looked ready to voice his objections but when he saw Legolas nod in a slow, deliberate way he swallowed down whatever reservations he had. Although he would never inform Legolas in public, the affirmative reply of the prince had just bolstered his suspicions that Legolas was a bit insane. But no more than a bit. There were worse people he could serve, after all and to be honest the warrior was perfectly happy with the present arrangement.

"Strider, these places are nothing more than intricate, over-exalted caves!" Legolas proclaimed degradingly, knowing full well what he was saying and where he was saying it.

Now more than ever Rothinzil wished he was invisible and he inconspicuously sipped the amber liquid in the pint-sized wooden mug by his hand. Legolas glared at him as though to say, "Don't get too comfortable here." At this the warrior swallowed what was in his mouth and didn't venture to drink any more. He wished Legolas would stop glowering at him that way.

However, another powerful bolt of lightning struck something above, causing the entire cave system to shake. He watched as Legolas tried to make up his mind on whether to stay or go, grinning with satisfaction when the prince shook his head in defeat. Roth smiled inwardly, realizing that he wasn't the least bit upset about staying. Trying to lighten the mood, Rothinzil cheerfully offered some of his ale to Legolas. "Want some, my Lord?"

Legolas' glare deepened and Roth's smile dropped. Aragorn silently watched the two, grinning to himself.

:0Ї0:

Aüla didn't look happy, the chestnut-haired man concluded anxiously as he stood just outside of her study. There were signs that only her husband recognized. Unfortunately he was that man, and he knew them well enough. The way her head inclined sharply to the side and and the way she was constantly (as well as aggressively) brushing her golden hair back behind her ears were the most prominent signs but there were many others. Her nails clicked with an indistinguishable rhythm against her furnished desk –that is, if there was a rhythm at all.

But he couldn't see her face. Her head was bent, staring at a piece of stained parchment that was unfurled on her desk. It obviously had seen some bad weather on its journey here.

It was then that Sador realized the truth in the saying that no news was good news. Before she had received this letter she had been happy –as had he. Swallowing, he walked cautiously up to her desk.

She had an extensive and meticulously organized study and library that reflected her social status very well. He was the new Master of Lake Town and she was his wife. Unlike most women of her era, she had made it her business to be fully educated and she was exceptionally smart. She looked down upon others of her sex who could be yet were not, and pitied those who never would have the chance.

"What does your brother say, dearest?" Sador ventured, carefully choosing his words.

Aüla raised her head, revealing her pale, sharp, but beautiful face which was clouded with a critical scowl. "They died," was all she said and continued reading, moving her lips silently as she came to terms with the disclosed information. Her hand swatted her hair back behind her ears again in irritation.

Sador paled slightly, but she didn't notice or she didn't care. "All of them, my dear?"

She held up a slender finger, silencing him as effectively as any gag could have. Finishing her reading she looked at him unblinkingly and then confirmed sharply, "Yes. Yes, they all did." Scowling, she could have sworn by the gods that she saw some small trails of empathy cross his face. "They couldn't cope and they died. Foolish, weak Elves." Her last phrase was marked with the utmost contempt.

Sador wasn't surprised. He imagined that it would be hard to cope with being tortured every single day of one's life for two weeks. And he knew his wife's brother well enough to safely presume that the torment the Elves had been put through and had seen ahead of them was nothing short of making their lives a living hell. He never understood why Aüla had seen it fit to capture _those_ Elves. They were not warriors at all; in fact, a lot of them were far too young to know much of anything. All the same, they had admirably died and kept their secrets. Well, no, he amended, they weren't admirable at all. They were cowards and had let themselves die. "You are thinking," he said observantly as he watched her stony face.

"They didn't tell my brother or his… staff, anything, which means that so far our plan is failing," she pointed out, reminding herself that grinding one's teeth was a horrible habit.

"You aren't thinking of capturing more, are you?" he asked coyly.

She stared at him as though he might very well be stupid. "Not me; I can get a few …'friends' of mine to do that."

"There will be no raft-men coming here for the next few days, at least," he said, shaking his head.

She snorted derisively. "I think we saw how useful _they_ are."

Sador inclined his head to the side, moving closer to her. "Then what are you going to do?" he asked persistently. He longed to reach out and touch her but he knew that she would recoil and possibly retaliate.

"Capture someone who is worth it," she snapped briskly, starting to read the letter for what had to be the third or fourth time. She shoved more hair from her face and glowered at the parchment. "Like some warriors who would undoubtedly be knowledgeable on Mirkwood's military tactics and armoury."

Sador paled so rapidly that for a second she feared that he would faint on the floor. Not that she cared about the danger it would pose to himself but she rather disliked the idea of a body on her floor. What if he hit his head hard enough to get bright red blood on her cream-coloured rug? "Do you know what problems that could cause?" he prompted, clearly upset. "Elven warriors…they aren't that easy to subdue, much less break in interrogation. And a missing captain or other officer would raise suspicion." He wasn't a military man by any definition of the name, but this much he knew. It was common sense.

She glared bitterly at his words and set the letter aside. Suddenly throwing herself into a mask of calm, she folded her delicate white hands on her desk in a manner that Sador found very unnerving. "Sador, my dear, warriors are not cowards. They will not surrender their souls to their gods so easily, which will buy us more time. Besides, I was stupid," she admitted, shaking her dark head of long, wavy hair. "I should have known young raft-men would know absolutely nothing. And suspicion is nothing of consequence anymore."

She looked terrible and yet beautiful when she was in a calm fury, he noticed with a suppressed shudder. "You aren't telling me everything," he stated darkly.

She raised a gorgeously sculpted, dark brow and widened her blue eyes innocently. Obviously she had underestimated his intelligence. Well, she conceded, he was elected to be the successor of the Master of Lake Town after the former one had… died wandering in the wild. "What am I hiding?"

"You already have some warriors in mind," he said slowly, staring her straight in the eyes, something that he immediately came to regret. They were such lethal eyes and he blinked, forcing himself not to look away. "Or someone, anyway. And what is more someone already knows, or suspects."

Well there was no denying that, and he wasn't someone that she had to hide it from. He wasn't going to give her trouble for two very simple reasons: he loved her and he knew that she had no qualms about eliminating those who got in her way. Nodding in confirmation she said, "Close enough."

"Why did you hide it from me?" he asked a bit heatedly.

She stared at him for a moment, obviously choosing an answer. "You did not need to know."

'I didn't need to know?' he asked himself disbelievingly. Outwardly he seemed understanding but inside he was deeply annoyed. "I see."

She didn't appear impressed and shrugged carelessly. "It was only a matter of time, I guess."

Her husband raised a brow, giving her a questioning look before sighing nervously. "And who is it that has grown suspicious of your –our plot," he corrected as her eyes narrowed impatiently.

Her face became obscured but she still managed a bone-chilling grin that entailed anything but amusement. As a matter of fact, it looked downright sinister and an almost visible black aura of evil seemed to cloud her. "Take a guess, Sador. Just take a guess."

Well, being the Master of Lake Town he knew something of the inhabitants and their comings and goings, as well as those of travellers. It was no secret that Prince Legolas had been sighted that morning with Rothinzil and a young ranger. Most people didn't know of the disappearance of the raft-men, but he imagined that it also was in the open now since he doubted that Legolas had come to observe the fine scenery. "Prince Legolas and his friends know about the missing Elves." His answer was a statement, not a guess and most certainly not a question.

"Yes, he does, and what else he could discover worries me. However, he is not the only one in a position to be discovering things," she said with an undertone of triumph and satisfaction –and contempt, Sador added. Yes, there was a lot of contempt. Her nails began to drum rhythmically on the polished surface of her desk, a sign that her frighteningly agitated state was coming to an end. "I think that surely the prince of Mirkwood and his little pets would know everything that we want. And while they are with us, they will get the answers that they desire, except it will be pointless for them."

Sador's heart leaped up into his throat, and he visibly worked to swallow the suffocating mass back down. She was mad, he told himself, because there was no other explanation for her designs or intentions. If the prince went missing, Thranduil would come –with an army, that is, and raze Lake Town and possibly Dale to the ground. "Aüla, I don't think that is a wise course of action considering his position. King Thranduil will not sit idle while his son and his son's companions are missing."

Aüla looked positively murderous and the rhythm of her nails' clicking became uneven and unpredictable, matching her mood. "It is because of his position that we must capture him, him and those closest to him. By the time Thranduil has any idea what is going on it will be too late. Ulfang and his allies will be on them, and then we can have Dale without Elven interference, not just this pile of floating wood on a Lake filled with rotting Dragon bones and debris."

Sighing, Sador asked quietly, "What do you have against the Elves? I highly doubt that they would interfere as long as the trade is not disrupted." His expression became dejected and he sighed heavily once more, knowing well what the answer to the question would be. He had asked it many times and still couldn't understand why he continuously found her attractive after he got his answer.

She looked at him as second longer and then threw her head back and laughed. But the laughter was cold and heartless. No, he amended, it definitely had heart. It had a black heart behind it, a cold black heart. "I was born and raised in Rhûn along with my brother, who is now their crownless king!" Her lips snarled, revealing her teeth as she hissed. "We are the remainder of the Balchoths! The rest of us died in Rhovanion, my great-great grandfather escaped the battle unscathed and took with him who he could…. We have our heritage to reclaim! Those Elves are not going to interfere!"

Sador winced inwardly. He found nothing amusing about this. Nothing at all. He never had anything against Elves and from the way she talked it sounded like her family had a history of a power-hungry mental disorder. Yet the very sight of her still made him love-sick.

"How is taking over Dale going to accomplish anything?" He still couldn't see it. She was much more the visionary… "Why the Elves…?"

She cackled slightly, not realizing how unladylike her behaviour had become during the past few minutes. "Dale will be an example, my dear, just a portent of the power we shall eventually hold. You said they would leave us alone if I ignored trade…I don't plan to ignore trade. Everything will be under our jurisdiction."

"Who is 'our'?" He had a sinking suspicion that it excluded him and actually meant her and her alter-ego…If he wanted to turn a blind eye to everything he could say her and her brother, but in all actually it he knew that it was her and her…

A knock that sounded almost like an impatient pounding sounded on her door. However, she didn't look displeased, Sador noted with a twinge of jealousy burning through his heart. If he had done that she would have been irritated or at the least mildly annoyed. If anything in her expression had changed it was that her mouth had something lurking in its corners that looked suspiciously like a smile.

The man who entered at her request was, in Sador's opinion, no one special and he glared scathingly at the other. The dark-haired man on the other side of the door came in and made a sweeping bow to Aüla in reverence before righting himself. Sador's face was darkened enviously as he took in the other's muscular frame and tanned skin. "Captain Ulrad," Aüla's husband acknowledged brusquely, tensing as though for a fight.

Ulrad smiled broadly at Sador, but it was equally tense. "Lord Sador," he gave a curt bow. Then turning his attention to Aüla, he informed politely, "We await your orders, milady."

She smiled, but this time its sinister quality was not so pronounced and her body seemed to relax against the large chair she sat in. Looking at Sador she suggested calmly, "Don't you have a town to run, my dear?"

Sador gave Ulrad one last look, like a cornered dog sizing up an opponent. Aüla's inward smile broadened. If he didn't bare his teeth she would be impressed. Oh, he would do everything to please her now, hoping she wouldn't stab their relationship in the back and to continue to try and earn her love. He wasn't so much a fool, she reasoned, but more a coward.

Her husband feigned disinterest, apparently unnerved by the size of Captain Ulrad and looked at her. Smiling as though he knew nothing at all about anything, he nodded. "Of course." Looking at Ulrad in a way that could only be considered a threat he said stiffly, "Good evening and good night to you, Captain Ulrad."

There were some things that he would rather not see or think about anyway, he told himself consolingly as he stepped past the threshold. To his everlasting anger and shame, Captain Ulrad closed the door within seconds after his departure. There were precious few clean reasons for that. She had friends all right; he contemplated darkly as he continued walking down the lengthy corridor –friends with some very desirable benefits.

He was being used, as was his position, and he knew it.

**TBC...Hey! At least there isn't really a cliffy on the first chapter this time! Although...poor Elves. :D **

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	2. Inevitable

_Dementia_

**Chapter Two**

Inevitable

"I am hungry." The three words caused Legolas to shake his head as they walked through the improving wastelands that were still called the Desolation of Smaug. They were leaving Erebor and the sun was only just peeking cautiously over the horizon, lifting the evil aura that still seemed to hover over the lands the Wyrm had scarred with fire. First light had not been early enough to leave the caves far behind.

No, wait, Legolas corrected himself scathingly; they were 'the works of many great craftsmen, which meant that they were corridors.' They had spent the night in the Dwarves' vast underground network and it had been just enough time for Legolas and a dwarf to pick a fight with one another.

"I am still hungry," the whiny voice reminded, not so cheerful anymore. A snicker followed that was most certainly Aragorn's.

Legolas finally stopped and turned around, scrutinizing the two friends with a critical eye. Roth grinned sheepishly and then looked mildly annoyed as he realized that they had stopped. "My lord, could you please keep walking? There is a warm breakfast somewhere with my name on it." Legolas merely raised an eyebrow, amused by Rothinzil's straightforwardness this morning. Even when he was in a horribly wicked mood, the warrior never requested that Legolas do anything.

"That's interesting," Legolas commented dryly, nodding to himself. "With your name on it you say?"

Rothinzil glowered grumpily. "Well, if doesn't it should," he mumbled darkly. "I am starving."

"Did you hear that Estel? The poor thing is starving," Legolas said, shaking his head. "How heartless of me."

Aragorn split his amused look between the two Elves. "This is what you get for forcing him to leave without breakfast, mellon nîn. I told you it would be perfectly fine to wait until first light but no, we just couldn't do that."

"He is always insufferable in the morning, ranger. You should know that," Legolas said, watching as Roth glowered at the ground.

"And grumpy enough to forget my place and choke a certain prince, I know," the warrior muttered with a belying grin, raising his face to see Legolas' reaction.

"Yes, you had best watch out, Legolas. He is hungry after all, and might very well eat you afterward," Aragorn warned, stepping away from Rothinzil as though he was a cannibal with the most infamous reputation.

The dark-haired Elf's grin broadened to face-splitting proportions and he shook his head, chuckling. "I don't think that I am quite that hungry, but I might take an interest in human meat, I haven't eaten that in a while."

Aragorn stepped a little further away, eyeing Roth cautiously. Roth seemed friendly, but that might only be a pretence…

"Truly, it has been a while." Legolas picked up the tease, eyeing Aragorn with a pleasant smile.

Aragorn shook his head while trying his best to act serious. "You Elves are always teasing me."

"Feel honoured, because there are plenty of humans that probably would have fallen for it like rocks from a cliff," Rothinzil point out helpfully. "When we reach Lake Town I can demonstrate if you wish."

Suddenly Rothinzil became self-conscious as he realized that both of his friends were staring at him as though he was an evil fiend that had just sprouted two more heads. Turning slowly on his heels he looked behind him, fully expecting to see the biggest monster ever cursed into existence. When he saw nothing he looked back questioningly at them, amused that their wide-eyed, gaping expressions had not changed in the slightest. "Is there something I should know?" he asked cautiously. With these two you could never tell and he swallowed audibly.

"You said that t-that word!" Legolas stammered. "Are you mad?" He was clearly distressed and Roth inclined his head, obviously puzzled.

"My lord?"

"The one word you should never say around Estel and you said it!" his prince persisted.

Roth looked almost frightened, wondering what he had done and he begged, "But what word, my lord?"

"Like rocks from a what?" Aragorn prompted, smiling.

Roth looked genuinely distressed as though he might start wringing his hands. "A cliff," he finished, still confused. Aragorn and Legolas shot him an exasperated glower before he finally grinned with understanding, suddenly feeling very stupid.

"Good job," Aragorn said, patting him on the back. "You see, I seem to have the worst luck with that word," he explained, still looking around as though one might appear out of nowhere and a person would conveniently show up to throw him from it.

Roth frowned suddenly. "I am _still _hungry."

Legolas and Aragorn exchanged looks and then Legolas smiled impishly. "Doesn't Helluin ever feed you?" He poked at Roth's perfectly flat stomach, which wasn't from lack of food. The Elf simply couldn't put on weight and even though he was a warrior -and a captain at that –you would never know from looking at him.

Roth's frown dissolved as he withdrew slightly, suppressing a childish giggle as Legolas seemed to have accidentally discovered one of his more ticklish spots, "Of course. Actually, I was hoping that we could go home for breakfast."

Aragorn smiled, chuckling quietly and Legolas just grinned at nothing. Roth was only recently married, after all, and his wife was pregnant, so it was natural that he would want to spend a lot of time at home around her. Both Aragorn and the prince had been forced to put up with his pining for the past two days and at moments he seemed intolerable with loneliness. "I think we can manage that," Legolas agreed, and Aragorn nodded.

Neither of them could claim to having _suffered_ through any of Helluin's cooking. It was one of her many talents.

Roth's elven glow expanded, giving him a cheery aura that brightened the early dawn, as the three started out again.

It wasn't long before they had to cross the river by way of a large bridge. Then Legolas frowned. What bridge? The river had swelled and the water had overcome the causeway, making crossing it impossible. If the water wasn't flowing so fast in such a deceptively calm manner they might have risked swimming it, but as insane as the three of them could be from time to time, they were definitely not stupid.

Aragorn just looked gravely at Legolas. "It seems that we shall be stuck here."

Legolas scowled, not appreciating the notion at all, and Roth visibly pouted, shooting the water a vengeful glare.

Suddenly Aragorn stepped away from them, causing both of the Elves to follow his movements with a distracted interest. Roth cocked his head and asked curtly, "Strider, what ever are you doing?"

Aragorn shook his head. And here he had thought Wood-Elves were trackers. "Someone else crossed here, recently."

Observing the ground more closely both of the Elves could see that Aragorn was right, but if they had not seen it with their own eyes, they would have never believed it. It was simply too slippery with mud and the water was too fast. Horses could break their legs or throw their riders.

"It must have been before the water had overcome this bridge," Legolas suggested quietly, still staring at the tracks of the horses. There were skid marks and deep rents where the animals' feet had nearly slipped out from under them on the unstable embankment.

Aragorn nodded and Roth just looked around nervously, thoughts of the missing Elves coming to mind. This was the perfect scenario for something to leap out and try to _eat _you, he reminded himself rather inappropriately, still thinking of food and devouring a scrumptious breakfast.

"It must have been some time late last night," Aragorn commented, still considering the imprints. There had been at least six horses and several people on foot. A miniature army came to mind, one lead by a tenacious leader who was not about to let a little washed out bridge water down any of his plans. This was lovely. And here they were trapped because _they_ could not get across.

Legolas and Roth both seemed to read his thoughts and sighed simultaneously. Roth's eyes darted to the surrounding foliage of the brush and trees, staring at it suspiciously. This had been strategically planned by a military genius, his years of warrior training screamed at him, a genius who could incorporate the weather into his plans with perfection –or he had incomparable luck. The thought unnerved him and he looked to his prince, but Legolas didn't look any less distressed.

All three were thinking along the same lines: For how long had they been under the watchful eyes of an unknown group?

"I don't like this," Roth muttered to himself.

"I don't think any of us like this, Roth, except for Legolas but he is insane after all," Aragorn said jestingly, giving the prince a scathing look.

Legolas' response was sarcastic. "Oh yes, I absolutely love it when maniacs are out for my blood. It is such good exercise and fun, but you should know."

He reached for his bow, knowing full well that although they could not see or hear those men and to all appearance the woods were safe; they were lurking out there. Roth was still enraptured by the foliage, searching it for any moving figures that might be trying to duck inconspicuously behind a tree or shrubbery. He knew that they were out there… somewhere… and the thought frustrated him.

Aragorn's hand lingered uncertainly over his sword hilt, waiting for the first sign of attack. "Maybe we can cross further down the river," he offered hopefully to his two companions.

"Unless there are more of them further down the river," Legolas muttered darkly, warily inspecting further down stream with his long-seeing Elven eyes. He couldn't see anything, but he was experienced enough to know that meant nothing and wasn't to be trusted. "Besides, the river is deep and treacherous in both directions."

Legolas was still contemplating all of this and cursing their luck in multiple languages (wondering if this had possibly anything to do with Roth saying _the_ forbidden word) when something slammed into him hard enough to send him to his knees. Whirling his head around, he glared at his assailant and reached for his knives, about to teach the attacker all about why you didn't shove Elves.

And arrow suddenly embedded it self up to the feathers in the mud behind the Elf, telling Legolas two very important things: first, that he had nearly died and secondly, that the bow was very powerful. The shot would have certainly gone clean through him and exited into the Forest River while killing him more thoroughly than a door-nail. "I guess we know where they are now," he muttered characteristically as he remained low to the ground and skilfully nocked an arrow into the bow he already held in his hands.

He would have to remember to thank Rothinzil, who was just behind him, glowering at the forest as he pinpointed where the shot had come from. If not for the shove Legolas was sure that he wouldn't be in this world. This was one of the rare occasions where Roth's collision with Legolas had been deliberate. Normally it was merely a case of his feet forgetting which one was left and which one was right.

In seconds all three friends were left wondering how a forest could possibly hide so many men for so long, as their attackers poured out into the open. It was at least five to every one of them.

Roth and Legolas took out men with their own bows but soon many more –nearly thirty -emerged to support their companions and the three friends were thrown into battle.Within minutes they were separated.

As Roth stood fighting back to back with Legolas the prince ground out, "I want you to find Aragorn. I want you to look after him, am I understood?" There was a pause as both of the Elves were forced to duck or lose their heads.

Roth looked troubled by the request, but he didn't want to break Legolas' concentration by arguing and perhaps cost both of them their lives. However he ardently disagreed with his prince's decision. He couldn't leave his lord to fight alone against these odds, but he would have to.

"Yes, my lord," he replied as quickly as he was able, forcing himself not to find the words a distraction.

Legolas smiled thinly at his friend's loyalty even as he caught a man across the face with his knife, dodging what easily could have been a lethal thrust at his abdomen. "Good, go NOW!"

Roth quickly complied, fighting his way through the humans that were so heavily assailing them. These men were like ones he had never seen before, though he supposed that they were Easterlings. All the same, he couldn't understand why there were here of all places.

It didn't take him long to find Aragorn and he stabbed his way through the surrounding humans until he could put his back against the ranger's. "How are you doing here?" he gasped around a quick inhalation of air as his body called for more oxygen.

Aragorn smiled grimly at the feeling of his friend at his back and the sound of Roth's sword clashing with his many different assailants'. "Better since your arrival, where is Legolas?"

Roth frowned; unnerved by the reminder that Legolas was by himself. Not that he doubted Legolas' fighting abilities in the least, but all it took was one mistake and if no one was around to help you, you were dead.

"He is somewhere fighting, he sent me to make sure that you were alright," the warrior admitted as his sword collided with another's and his arms trembled with the strength he was forced to expend in order to repel the weapon which was still pressing against his own. Using his feet, he kicked the human back before delivering a finishing blow.

Aragorn was having just as much trouble fighting off his assailants. The human was finding it difficult to concentrate as he couldn't help but gape at the sight of all of these attackers and ask himself the question of where in all of Arda they had all come from?

Roth was about to ask Aragorn how he was holding up when he heard the ranger cry out. Distracted by the human's cry of pain the Elf whirled around, inwardly whining that this was simply not his day and that the Valar never played fair. He couldn't see the injury, which he was only half-way grateful about considering he had seen more than enough blood already that morning, but the ranger's colour tone had turned an unhealthy shade of grey or white. "Strider!" he yelled just as something heavy slammed into his shoulder, causing his feet to catch one another and him to bowl over, rolling a few feet before reflexively springing up, sword in hand.

It was when he sprang to his feet that he realized Legolas was nowhere to be seen and that his surroundings were exceptionally different. The battle had pushed them further downstream than he had thought and he and Legolas were totally separated with no means to even yell to each other. Feeling a hot, coursing anger barrelling through his chest, the Elf-warrior raised his sword and his lips curled in an angry grimace that could have been mistaken as a very wicked smile. Instantly the humans were reminded of a cat cornered by dogs, but they didn't like that analogy too much because that meant that they were the dogs.

Seconds after staring hypnotically at Roth's churning eyes, someone remembered that they were in possession of crossbows and he pointed it suggestively at warrior. "It would be intelligent of you to drop your weapons, Elf!"

Roth arched a brows lightly, impressed, but his coutenance remained cold. He couldn't see a way out of this, and he had promised to protect Aragorn, which would be a difficult thing to accomplish if he was dead. However, he couldn't bring himself to surrender to these men, not only because he didn't trust them as far as he could throw a sack of bricks, but he wasn't stupid and he knew a lot of details about Mirkwood and her defences that people of this sort might find very interesting. He wouldn't tell them anything of course, but he didn't want to undergo any form of …encouragement.

He looked for Aragorn and inwardly moaned with dismay when he saw the human. The wound was evident now and he could distinctly make out the arrow that had sunken deeply in Aragorn's sword arm, up near the top. There was enough blood flowing from the injury to paint a house a literal bloody red. He would be lucky if the bones were not broken and the Elf winced with sympathy.

"Would you rather that we kill your friend, hm?" one of the men with a crossbow asked, turning his bow upon the ranger.

It took Roth a couple of minutes to resign himself to their situation and even then, he was still reluctant to lower his weapon much less let go of it completely. These people wanted him alive, which was not a pleasant thought at all and in fact it made him feel slightly sick.

"Your weapons, Elf?"

Hesitantly Roth lowered his sword, doubting his Elven reflexes would do him any good if these people actually knew how to use their crossbows properly, which was likely the case. People normally didn't go around carrying weapons for no reason and without knowing their functions. His weapon dropped into the mud and he held his hands up, palms turned towards the humans.

Roth didn't think that Aragorn could have gone whiter, but when a number of men closed in on the Elf, he did.

Aragorn could feel his strength draining with the blood that was oozing around the… arrow… in his arm. Yes, the thing that was causing him so much pain was an arrow, he realized detachedly and somehow it had managed to delve itself right into his arm, though he couldn't tell if it had avoided the bones or hewn through them. Looking at his sword lying uselessly on the ground he idly wondered when he had dropped it and decided somewhat hazily that it was probably when he was shot. He tried to move his fingers but realized he had to look to see if they were still there. It felt numb.

Roth stared hard at Aragorn, warning the ranger to be quiet as the humans closed around him and cut off all paths of escape. Capture was as inevitable as summer following spring.

He wanted to call for Legolas but there were simply too many men here and the last thing that he wanted was to get his prince captured too. That would be disastrous and he would rather die (which seemed likely), than let that happen, but at the same time they needed help. He couldn't very easily get Aragorn free, as a matter of fact; he couldn't do anything at all –not without getting them both killed.

The thought briefly crossed his mind that the reason he was unable to locate Legolas was that the prince was already dead or had somehow been subdued. However, he wasn't given time to dwell on this as a man impatiently shouldered his way through the others, holding a length of rather itchy looking rope in his hands. Roth stepped back instinctively, not liking the thought of being bound in any fashion whatsoever by these people. However, he didn't have much of a choice and he resisted the urge to wince in alarm as he felt himself back into two or three men behind him. They immediately grabbed his upper arms and held him in place.

"Put your hands together, Elf, and I mean now, unless you want your friend to pay for your stupidity," the human advised smoothly, stretching the rope and running his fingers edgily along its length.

Roth might have complied but at that moment there was a snapping sound like a small branch breaking and then Aragorn gave a strangled sort of half scream. Frantically following the sound of the noise, Roth whirled around just in time to see the men coercing Aragorn into being bound while one of them discarded the broken, bloodied arrow that had apparently been wrenched from the human's arm after the head was snapped off.

He opened his mouth to protest as Aragorn's arms were wrenched behind his back with little effort to stop the bleeding of his wound, but at that moment his captor's voice interrupted his train of thought. "So, what is it going to be Elf?"

Roth then stared straight at the man before him, who was, to the Elf's odd satisfaction, slightly shorter. This man was the captain of these men or he was a fool. He was a captain in Mirkwood's regiments, after all, and he recognized the symptoms, if you will, of being a captain, particularly the slump (or rather the lack of it) in the shoulders. "These are your men," he stated tartly. He had no idea what he hoped to accomplish by saying that too, he realized seconds later.

The man smiled in a deceptively friendly manner but his voice was scathing. "Indeed, how perceptive of you Elf. And I will let you in on a little secret: they will do exactly as I say, when I say it. If you want your ranger friend alive, then I suggest you comply instantly with everything I tell you." He held up the rope demonstratively. "Your hands, please, Master Elf."

Roth hesitated, keeping his arms at his sides even though he knew that he didn't have a chance.

Aragorn watched from where two men gripped him tightly, fearing for the Elf. He could tell that Roth was very frightened, but he could also tell that the Elf was very, very angry as well as very, very confused. He wouldn't mind if Roth broke free, even if he himself was killed but there was no way possible that the warrior could defeat this many foes alone.

He sighed with a twisted sense of relief when the dark-haired Elf stuck his hands together and held out his wrists in a manner that clearly said he held nothing but contempt for these people. Apparently the feeling was at the least mutual. But his outstretched hands were not bound in front, which showed that these people had some intelligence. An Elf with his hands bound in front was almost as dangerous as a free one. Wrenching Roth's arms behind him so that the joints of his shoulders groaned in dissent, the humans proceeded to wrap the cords around his wrists so tightly that the Elf's face scrunched up ever so slightly with annoyance at the small amount of pain the biting rope caused.

"The last Elves I had, gave me a great deal of trouble, resulting in very unpleasant consequences for them," the man informed rather dryly as he drew the cords even tighter and tied off the knot. The captain stared intently at Roth's face, causing the Elf to feel a sense of cold, dark nausea that was something akin to a sense of fear. "I am hoping that you can be smarter than that."

Roth cocked his head to the side and forced himself to stare the shorter being down. "So it was you."

The man raised his brows and looked at his prisoner as though waiting for Roth to complete his accusation. "What was me, Master Elf?"

"You captured them and killed them, didn't you?" Roth questioned acidly, suddenly feeling very numb with anger.

The man suddenly smiled, as though it was something that he was very proud of. "Yes, yes I did. It was rather a difficult accomplishment too, but they really didn't know how to fight."

A dangerous glimmer came into Roth's eyes, as though some fire had ignited from within them, and his voice was calculatingly low and thick with vengeance. "Of course they didn't know how to fight! They weren't warriors! They probably weren't even armed!" In all likelihood they had probably walked right up to the men, being as young as they were. They had been trusting and Roth felt his heart bleed for them anew.

The man before him merely quirked a brow at the livid Elf and then shrugged rather heartlessly. "Oh, they were armed, but it really didn't matter in the end. They were young and they were stupid."

"Well let me tell you something, _lhûg_," Roth hissed venomously as he was pushed towards Aragorn. "Compared to me, you are young. Very young and you are also stupid. You will regret the day that you chose to capture them. I may not live to see it, but you will pay for the innocent lives you have taken."

"A very interesting theory Elf, but if indeed I am so…'stupid' as you say, then why did I manage to trap you, your prince and your little ranger friend? We both know the truth," he said, watching with cruel amusement as the Elf was shoved nearly into the ranger.

But Roth was no longer paying any attention to his captors and had devoted himself to seeing to Aragorn. There was a glazed, faraway look in the human's eyes and Roth felt his dark nausea tie his stomach into knots as he realized that he didn't know what to do. "Strider?" he asked quietly.

Aragorn worked to focus his eyes and some of the pain-induced film on their glassy surface receded, allowing Roth to see into the dulled orbs. "Roth… don't worry," he murmured tiredly. "I will be fine." He smiled encouragingly at the sight of his friend's paled and frightened face but it didn't seem to change. "Legolas is going to kill us."

Roth nodded solemnly. "That he will."

Just then their conversation was interrupted by the remainder of the men hurrying towards their leader. It was obvious that they were trying to avoid eye contact with the captain and Roth smiled grimly as he realized that he didn't see Legolas among them. Of course this could mean that Legolas had been killed, if even by accident, but being the eternal optimist, Roth told himself emphatically that Legolas had managed to escape. To his horror, a darker portion of Roth's mind seemed to be gaining more control by the second, reminding him that Legolas' past record left much to be desired in these regards.

"Captain Ulrad," addressed the unfortunate lieutenant assigned to deliver the unfavourable news, "he…well he evaded us…" the white-faced man's voice trailed off uncertainly and Roth noticed that his swallowing became compulsive.

The captain didn't move from where he was standing by his captives and merely inclined head to the side in a manner that was deceptively calm. "Evaded, you say?"

The other man avoided eye contact with his superior and nodded somewhat clumsily. "Yes sir." He suddenly found an unexplainable fascination with his boots and the gritty soil beneath them.

"Tell me, why did he evade us?"

"He is an excellent fighter, sir –and fast!" Valar, he had not seen a faster being in his whole life. "One moment he was stabbing someone, the next a man fell from one of his arrows. This all happened in less than a few seconds."

Roth smiled inwardly at the agreeable description of his friend.

Ulrad smiled too, but it held nothing but contempt and an ill sense of humour. It was the kind of smile that created balls of ice in one's stomach and Roth felt himself shiver slightly. Aragorn tensed at his side, able to detect the malice despite his agonized state. "He cannot be allowed to escape, lieutenant. It will undo everything."

The other man only nodded vigorously. "Of course, sir!" Roth half-way expected him to give an overemphasized salute and was impressed when the human's hands remained clenched at his sides.

"Lieutenant, go and find Captain Unferth, tell him to report to me, at this spot at once! He should be lingering around the wounded somewhere!"

'And killing them,' the man wanted to add as he watched the other man stagger hastily away to do his bidding. Captain Unferth was…effective but uncontrollable as well as merciless. Wounded men caused problems and slowed progress, therefore they made a liability that he had no qualms about eliminating. No one ever interfered, not wanting to be seen as insubordinate, which resulted in the ultimate punishment –death, and perhaps torment first. As for Ulrad, he truly didn't care one way or the other as long as he didn't have to watch.

Roth stared at the surrounding men and then looked sorrowfully at Aragorn, "I will try to help you as soon as I can, just please stay with me," he begged in whispered Elvish, staring intently at Aragorn's face. He didn't like to admit it, but he was afraid, very afraid.

Aragorn opened one eye, hardly realizing that he had squeezed them shut against the fire that was engulfing his entire arm. It spread up his shoulder and neck at a slow, but definitely steady pace. Forcing a weak, obviously fake smile, he rationalized, "And why would I leave you to have all the fun?"

Roth grinned with relief, ignoring the confused look that Captain Ulrad was shooting him. He knew full well that this was not a situation that called for grins, but all the same he couldn't help himself. After all, he reminded himself (feeling more than a bit guilty about his accusations), he wasn't a depressed, boring Elf like Legolas.

"Captain Ulrad!" an annoyed, cold voice bellowed, clearly unhappy.

"Yes, Captain Unferth, I am here," responded Ulrad coolly. He regarded the other with a hard, serious stare. "I am putting these prisoners in your charge as I am going to stay and assume the responsibility of making sure that the prince is tracked, and taken."

A gleeful smile pulled back the other man's lips, which were halfway hidden by an ugly, dark beard of wiry hair. True to his promise to Legolas, Roth put himself protectively in front of Aragorn, hiding the wounded man from view, but he deeply wished that some one would hide _him_ from view. The heavy sadism that smouldered in the man's smile was enough to make him taste vomit in the back of his throat.

"Good idea," Unferth said obligingly. He knew the real reason Ulrad wanted to stay, and it had long dark hair and finely chiselled face –as well as a husband, he added with an inward sneer.

"Glad you agree, Captain," Ulrad muttered scathingly, somehow retaining a pleasant expression.

Roth turned and gave Aragorn a confused glance and then stared back at his human captors, wondering how two people could have such animosity for each other and possibly be on the same side. Erestor and Glorfindel enjoyed each other's company more and that was saying something after all. Aragorn shook his head inwardly, reading Roth's thoughts.

Wrapped up in their inner musings and anxieties, the two were taken by surprised when the surrounding men grabbed Roth's upper arms and shoulders, steering him towards a horse.

Roth didn't even flinch in protest, too numb-struck at the turn of events. His face was a detrimental shade of white, as though he was sick and his eyes were wide with a mixture of emotions churning in their hazel depths. Despite his shock-induced acquiescence, the Elf's captors struck at his face with their fists or open hands, Aragorn noted anxiously, creating what would eventually be dark bruises.

The ranger watched the harsh treatment of his friend silently, for fear of causing more trouble for the Elf, which didn't mean that he wasn't angry. He was floating somewhere above livid. And what made it worse was that every time small hints of pain flittered across Roth's chalky face, Unferth would smile in a gleefully amused way.

Coercing Roth onto the horse took a bit more effort by then, because Roth had realized just how much he really didn't want to go with these people. But his efforts were in vain unless getting clipped in the mouth and tasting blood counted as a success. Wiping his stinging mouth on his shoulder, leaving a crimson smear, the Elf found brief interest in the horse's shaggy main, which looked a little worse for wear.

"Stop!" he croaked through his tightened throat as he realized they were going to treat Aragorn in the same fashion. Unferth just speared the warrior with a calculating glance, amused that this Elf had resisted as much as he had. The others certainly had not.

He shook his head when he realized that the Elf seated on the horse was still stammering protests and fighting his bonds angrily. Aragorn was forced up onto a horse beside the Elf, which satisfied Roth enough to quiet his yelling, which had been wholly obnoxious.

"Leave a contingent to hide the wounded," Unferth commanded almost happily, getting into the spirit of things. "The rest of you mount. We ride East."

And once the men were mounted, with one of them behind Aragorn and Roth to keep them on the horses, they did just that.

:0Ї0:

Legolas perched lightly on the thick branch he had chosen as his temporary refuge. His knives were still in his hands, stained with drying, red blood and he clenched his fingers around their smooth, decorative handles. Scanning the surrounding forest floor for any of the humans that he knew were seeking him, he was annoyed when he saw several still stalking beneath the trees -calling to him as though he would be more than happy to jump down and became their humble prisoner. Ha! And here they thought that _he_ was insane?

Smiling as they took a completely wrong turn, Legolas looked distastefully at his knives before deciding that there was nothing left but to wipe the grime and blood from them onto his pants' leg and then sheathe them. Grumbling inwardly about this, he looked ruefully at the crimson stain before sliding his knives into their cases on his back. A bow was more appropriate for this scenario.

When he looked up again the humans were gone, to his minor disappointment, and he scowled. Well as long as they were not standing under his tree, looking at him with smirks on their faces, he knew that he shouldn't be too upset.

Shaking his head, he wondered where these people had come from. He knew what Easterlings looked like, and these people most definitely fell into that category. But there had been at least forty or more of them…how did one hide a force like that? Puzzled, the Elf decided that he wasn't going to distract his mind from survival by giving himself a pounding headache.

He could hear horses galloping and then everything grew silent, very silent. Even the birds were quiet. Feeling the effects of the battle wearing off, Legolas felt himself slipping into a tired sort of void. Leaning against the trunk of the tree, he sat down and stretched out his legs along the branch's length. Distractedly, he gazed up past the leaves and at the speckles of bright light that filtered through them, creating warm patches on his face.

Sighing under his breath, he knew that he was going to be up in the tree for quite some time. The humans may not be visible at the moment, but he knew that they were there and he was not going to walk into their trap.

While sitting there, he wondered idly where Roth and Aragorn were. He knew that the battle had separated them a great deal so it would take them time to find each other, but all the same he was feeling rather anxious and…lonely. It was rather boring having an inner monologue when you were too tired and distressed to even listen to yourself. Aragorn would have said something hilarious and Roth would most certainly have done something to inspire Aragorn's hilarious comment. The warrior didn't have very good balancing skills and remaining in a tree, even while standing still, was definitely not his forte.

Legolas looked around, able to picture them quite vividly and Aragorn chastising him for being so stubborn and getting them into this sort of trouble. Waiting for the unknown would be so much easier if he weren't all alone.

**TBC...Muahahahahahahahaha! And so the regime of evil cliffies starts anew! LOL Poor Roth, but we had to do it. Legolas and Aragorn had been having all the fun lately after all and we must be fair...which means EVERYBODY gets hurt. LOL**

**Please review! And thank you so much for all the reviews you sent us for the first chapter! We loved them all! They were so nice! Please don't stop! LOL Thanks! **

**Oh, and one quick note, we won't be updating next Friday, sorry, and we usually do update once a week on Fridays, but I am leaving Friday and I just decided I might as well update now. LOL Geez...you guys started out lucky with early updates... :D **


	3. Devious Fate

_Dementia_

**CHAPTER THREE**

Devious Fate

"Ulrad, tell me that you are jesting," Aüla commanded icily, pulling away from her lover, defying his kiss, however enjoyable it was. When he continued to try and get his mouth on her neck she twisted free, glaring at him coldly.

He looked annoyed and slightly perplexed. Rolling his eyes, he pushed himself away from her where she had been with her back against the bookshelves of her study. "He is like a cat, Aüla: sleek, fast and dangerous. We have searched everywhere, yet he eludes us."

Shoving herself off of the bookshelf and turning around to rearrange some of the volumes that had been disturbed during their passion, she spoke over her shoulder. "If you do not bring him to me before this time tomorrow, bound, with a little nicely tied ribbon around his skulking neck you will never come near me again, do you understand?" she ordered darkly.

There was no response. Incensed, she whirled around and her voice became a demanding hiss. "He could unravel everything, _captain_!"

"I understand Aüla, but it has been three days…he is too elusive. Besides, Captain Unferth would be halfway to Rhûn by now with his prisoners," he reasoned calmly, once again approaching her with intent. She held up her hand, forcing him to stop his advances.

"I want that Elf, captain. If you can't do it, I can find someone who can!" Her meagre supply of patience was quickly waning.

Ulrad's face was flushed red and he bowed curtly, edging towards the door of her study to allow himself out. "As you wish, my lady." He lifted his face, glaring at her angrily, burning with humiliation.

She did her best to sound convincingly sympathetic. "Why, Ulrad, don't leave angry." She sounded derisively appalled at the notion and smiled rakishly. "I will be right here when you get back."

He returned the smile sweetly, lips twitching. "I was merely concentrating, my lady."

"Just bring him to me alive; he doesn't have to be… undamaged. He just needs to be able to speak. Don't attract attention and keep your men under control," she cautioned seriously, her smile slipping from her face. Somehow she looked more beautiful when deadly serious – when her eyes glittered.

"Your wish is my command, Lady Aüla," pledged Ulrad pleasantly, repeating his earlier bow with a flourish. Opening the door to her study, he slipped out, all but walking over Sador, who appeared around the corner.

Paying his respects to Aüla's husband, he hurried on; annoyed as he felt the other man's eyes on his back.

Sador watched the man go, inclining his head to the side with more than a mild interest in the affairs of his home. Shifting the scrolls he held in his hands, he prepared to enter Aüla's study as though nothing had happened. It had all been in the line of business, of course. Slinking in through the door, he smiled warmly at her. "Is everything going according to plan?"

"Prince Legolas, Sador. We need to capture him. For all I know he could be in Mirkwood right now."

"Why not simply kill him?" Sador questioned softly, not comfortable with having to house the Elf anywhere on the premises. Writing 'we did it' in big, bright red letters across the door frame of the building would deliver about the same sort of communication.

"We don't know whom he could have told. It is crucial that whatever he said is contained and that he never gets a chance to tell anyone anything again," she explained impatiently, sliding into her chair behind her desk. She scrutinized him, drumming her fingers on the desk irritably. He knew about Ulrad, of course and she was amused at his attempts to lie to himself.

"Then what shall be done with him, supposing you can coerce him to comply?" Sador persisted, having a sinking suspicion that he wasn't going to find the final ending of the Elf agreeable.

"Hmmm… it all depends on my mood I suppose," she said thoughtfully, her sculpted brows knitting. Moments later a cruel smile pulled at her lips and she laughed wistfully, flicking her head so that her long dark hair fell behind her shoulders and down her back. "Well, I will be a queen soon, love. And every queen needs a slave. Prince Legolas will learn to grovel at my feet."

Sador shook his head inwardly. He had met Prince Legolas on numerous occasions and he couldn't say anything bad about the Elf. However, he could say Legolas had a strong will and a proud bearing. If anything the Elf would rather die, than lower his forehead to the floor for her. Trying to look mollifying, he asked, "Are you sure that you don't count your chickens too early, my dear? He is an Elf after all and they are a resourceful folk. What if he executes an escape?"

"Oh, he won't escape," she assured.

:0Ї0:

Roth flexed his fingers experimentally, biting down on his lower lip, releasing the coppery-tang of blood into his mouth. However, his mounting concern for Aragorn made him forget how much he hated the taste of blood. Looking around the camp worriedly, he tried to find the ranger but all he saw were Easterlings… and more Easterlings. The two had been separated, partially so that they couldn't draw comfort from each other, but mostly so that they wouldn't be able to conjure up an escape plan of any sort. Unferth and his men were pressed to get to the Second Capitol as quickly as possible and they wanted no avoidable trouble. Harsh and merciless punishments were promised for any attempt to escape or troublemaking, but it was not those that held the Elf back.

Roth had passed by many opportunities where escape wouldn't have been too risky given his Elven speed and endurance, but he had made a promise to Legolas to look after Aragorn. He wasn't leaving without that human.

"Where is Strider?" he shot the impromptu question at Unferth as the human strutted past.

Pausing, captain smiled down at his prisoner. "Worried about your friend, eh?"

Roth remained silent, refusing to be riled by the man's taunts. However, his eyes narrowed accusingly.

"Well he will be coming along shortly, don't you worry," the back-haired man assured, patting Roth's head degradingly, as though he was some dog.

Roth recoiled sharply, his nose wrinkling with repugnance. "Don't touch me, human." Despite his best efforts of concealment, his voice betrayed his fear almost completely.

Unferth chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "Elves… you are all just so cold." Roth's expression remained unchanged, but Unferth could tell that his prisoner was deeply unsettled by the touch of human hands. He would have to remember this when he it came to questioning.

Their conversation was disrupted when two soldiers appeared through the settling night fog, dragging something heavy and awkward between them. Roth didn't have to look twice to know who was sagging weakly between their grips.

Aragorn was dumped unceremoniously to the ground, rolling so that he landed against the Elf. For a few seconds the human was unresponsive, but finally, after some gentle coaxing on Roth's part he cracked open his eyes, scanning his friend's pale face.

Uninterested in the consolation that the Elf and ranger offered one another, Unferth grunted before abandoning them to their guards. He may have been the captain here, but that only left him with more responsibilities, like making sure his incompetent men were pitching camp properly. There would be time to have fun with his prisoners later.

"Strider?" Roth asked uncertainly, cradling Aragorn as best he could with his hands bound in front of him. The human had closed his eyes again, and his forehead was dotted heavily in perspiration. Dried and fresh blood stained and stiffened the fabric of one side of his sage-coloured tunic, accumulating from the arrow wound. The man's skin burned feverishly under the Elf's touch, despite the fact that it was clammy and wet.

"Oh Roth," the human moaned around parched lips. "I am sorry… you should not have… been captured…" Unlike Legolas, Roth wore his heart on his sleeve and it was almost never hard to guess what he was thinking or feeling, and right now, he was mortally frightened.

Roth hushed the ranger's apology, gently pressing his fingers to his friend's lips. "Nothing is your fault." If blame must be placed, then he was sure that it rested squarely on his shoulders. For all the time spent in Lake Town, he had never suspected this sort of trouble when it had all but sat on his doorstep with a bright-lettered sign. "I should have seen this coming," he murmured quietly, shaking his head.

Aragorn smiled mirthlessly. "Just… as bad as… Legolas."

The Elf ignored the jibe, so single-minded about their predicament.

"You are starting to bleed again," Roth stated worriedly as he watched bright red start to blossom through the cloth of Aragorn's tunic once more. He had tried his hardest to staunch Aragorn's wound and start a curative effect in it, but it was refusing to heal. Having never experienced any medical training, the Elf was clueless as to what he might do next. And even if he had the faintest idea then it was likely the medical supplies necessary would be denied to them.

Aragorn groaned and closed his eyes. "It's… infected." And the infection was spreading, as the raging fever beneath his skin nagged his healer's instincts.

Roth drew a deep breath, forcing himself not to feed the panic needling his heart. "But you will still be all right, won't you?" he plead earnestly, shaking the human gently in his anxiety.

"I won't…leave you here by yourself…" Aragorn tried to sound convincing for the Elf's sake. However, more than a shadow of doubt blanketed his heart.

Roth seemed reassured by the words and he relaxed slightly. "Good then." Narrowing his eyes, he muttered, "We need to get some bandages… and some medicinal herbs couldn't hurt either."

Aragorn sighed, sitting up. Lights bounced behind his eyelids and his head swirled, apparently lost somewhere in the clouds. "As kind as our hosts are," he said, thoughtfully eyeing a guard, "I don't think their compassion runs quite so deep."

Roth snorted in concurrence. "I suppose not."

The sound of heavy footsteps drew them both out of their conversation, and Roth felt his heart speed up, so that is ribs seemed to vibrate with each beat. Aragorn could feel the Elf stiffen beside him and he inconspicuously grabbed one of Roth's bound hands in his own, squeezing it encouragingly. Roth returned the squeeze, silently letting Aragorn know that he would be all right and that he only needed to come to terms with the situation.

The guards straightened up at the approach of their captain, suddenly very interested in the situation. Things had been rather boring around here, and maybe, just maybe, their captain was ready for some fun.

Unferth watched his captives quietly for a moment, while the men accompanying him stood dutifully behind him. He could tell that his Elven prisoner was struggling with himself for composure. The man seemed equally upset but more resigned, though some of his calm may have been due to his blood loss. After all, he had lost quite a bit, the Easterling reminded himself, eyeing Aragorn's arrow-wound.

Roth flinched back as something was thrown at him and landed cold against his hands. Jerking in revulsion, he looked at Aragorn, but the ranger had remained impassive, staring with disinterest at the object in his hands.

"Nothing like raw meat on an empty stomach, eh boys?" he chuckled amusedly.

Swallowing hard as he resisted the urge to throw up, the Elf's nose wrinkled in repulsion. They couldn't seriously be expecting him to eat…_that_, could they? "I have suddenly lost my appetite," he explained, flipping the meat from his hands with a shudder. His disgust mounted as he noticed some crimson remained where the meat had lain.

Aragorn nodded in agreement with his friend. "As appetizing as it looks," he added sarcastically, removing the red meat from his hands with a flick of his wrists. He wasn't even sure where the thing had come from…

The reaction of the captives was not unexpected, but all the same it was not appreciated. Unferth glowered. "Fine." He took off his glove, splitting his dark glare between the Elf and ranger. Before Roth could anticipate the blow, the glove had whipped across his face, catching his lip and splitting it in the corner. He tasted blood. "Then go ahead and starve. There's just more for me and my men that way."

Squaring his shoulders stubbornly as he licked the blood from his mouth, Roth glowered at the human. He knew better than to say anything, so he refused to speak, but his darkened hazel eyes spoke more volumes than any words could have. Aragorn had schooled his face into a stone carving of dispassion, partially to hide his pain that a show of anger would expose.

"Bloody Elf," snarled Unferth, taking an imposing step closer. Roth didn't flinch back, even though he wanted to. He could feel a trembling sensation starting in his knees, gradually creeping up the rest of his body like a cold, consuming wave. "Someday soon, when time is on our side, I am going to teach you a lesson… a lesson that won't easily be forgotten," Unferth promised, spitting on the ground and grinding the saliva into the soil with his hobnailed boot.

By now small tremors had increased in frequency and started to shake Roth's hands, but he clenched them into fists. "You won't teach me anything!" the Elf swore emphatically, although he was trying to reassure himself more than inform his captor.

Aragorn tensed beside him, anticipating a sharp reprimand. "Peace, Rothinzil," he commanded softly in Sindarin, looking pointedly at his friend. "Don't give him a reason to hurt you," he added, still hiding his words with Elvish.

The Elf settled down slightly, lowering his eyes at Aragorn's advice and allowing the human glowering above him to feel his desired sense of triumph. His heart burned hotly with the humility of his actions and he almost fancied that he would rather take another blow than feel this cowardly and weak. Staring at his hands, Roth continued to keep them balled into fists in an effort to conceal their uncontrollable shaking. He was more afraid than he would like to admit even to himself.

"That's right," purred Unferth sneeringly. "Be a good little Elf and keep your trap shut."

Roth's head was about to snap up angrily, but Aragorn put a hand on his leg, reminding him to refuse the bait. Hating himself, Roth kept his head hung and didn't say anything. Inside he knew that Aragorn was wrong, and that what he did or didn't do, hardly mattered in the resulting outcome.

"Good job, ranger," Unferth congratulated snidely, nodding at Roth. "You just keep him out of trouble. But one of these days you won't be there, but I will, and me and this little Elfy are going to have a heart-to-heart." Grabbing Roth's chin between his fingers, the human forced the Elf to look up at him. Roth didn't resist, but his eyes were dark with fury at the mortal's touch. "He isn't through being a pain in the neck," Unferth promised, staring directly into the green-brown fire of his captive's eyes.

Silently, Unferth continued to hold Roth's chin, waiting for the Elf to jerk it away. However, Roth never did, but stared at him with a long-suffering expression. Disgusted and annoyed, Unferth let it go with a downward thrust. He was the kind of man that always felt in control, and the unpredictable nature of this Elf's actions were making him feel anything but that. Somehow, he was getting the uncomfortable feeling that the Elf was the one dictating things… or well, not really the Elf, but the ranger.

Nodding his head, he silently ordered two guards to restrain his Elven prisoner.

Roth flinched slightly in surprise as he felt the guards' fingers enclose around his arms and shoulders, deliberately digging into his flesh hard enough leave a string of minute bruises behind. He was tugged backward, away from Aragorn.

Confused and afraid, he kicked out at his captors, which only caused them to grip him tighter. However, he still managed to catch one in the knee cap, earning a colourful sequence of words. "We ought to break his legs," the limping man suggested in a way that told Roth he would love to be the one to do it. "He doesn't need those," the human continued, whining.

A cold shiver iced the contours of Roth's spine and he shuddered in the humans' grips, subconsciously pulling his legs somewhat closer to his body. The limping Easterling noticed and grabbed one of his booted feet with a maddening smile, pulling it to extend his leg. There were some rounds of frigid chuckling as Roth struggled, eventually retracting his foot from the human's grip and pulling his legs even closer to his body.

"Unless you want to be the one to carry him, Sigewolf," growled Unferth threateningly, "I suggest we leave his legs in one piece." He had no patience for the wounded, and was only keeping the ranger out of sheer obedience and fear. However, even his duties and fear combined wouldn't prevent him from slaying a wounded Elf as he was barely able to tolerate them in good conditions.

There was more laughter, this time at Sigewolf's expense, but Roth lowered his gaze anyway, humiliation colouring his fair cheeks. Sigewolf grumbled under his breath, shooting Roth a vengeful glare as he ruefully rubbed his bruised kneecap.

Once the Elf was properly secured with his back to a stake pounded into the ground, Unferth turned his attention to Aragorn. The ranger didn't acknowledge him at first, but rather said a string of Elvish words to Roth, who was damaging himself against the ropes. The words seemed to have a calming effect on the Elf, but battle was still smouldering in his eyes, as his muscles relaxed.

"Strider, I cannot just submit to these people…" he answered back in clipped Sindarin, not believing what Aragorn was asking. "Not while they hurt you. I promised Legolas. And you are my friend!"

There was an approval-hungry look in his eyes, and his voice was soft and pleading -almost vulnerable. Permission wasn't necessary, as he _could_ think for himself, but he preferred it to objective decisions. Since he was an Elfling Roth had always taken orders, and even as a captain, his obligations usually only extended to him paraphrasing an order that he had been commanded to have his men execute. He may have his own thoughts and motives, but they were deeply buried. Aragorn had all but commanded him to a temporary acquiescence and Roth was finding that his subservient nature didn't possess the will to resist.

Aragorn was well aware of this, and had been for some time. He might regret it later, but at the moment he was going to take full advantage of it. The Elf simply did not understand the paper-thin wall that was between him and helpless agony. Roth had such a jovial, gentle spirit and Aragorn knew that something inside his own chest would snap if he had to see the Elf put through all the agonies that the Easterlings were more than capable of, as well as more than pleased to deal out.

"Roth," he demanded in low Sindarin, "you listen to me and you listen right now. You know my true identity. Call it a technicality, but I am a lord in an Elven home, be it that I am only human. You are but a captain of warriors. I _command_ you to be silent and not draw attention to yourself. You know that I speak for Legolas."

The Elf cocked his head the side, but drew a certain amount of closure from the order, although still unsure about how much authority the human had out of what he claimed. There was no disputing that the ranger was the last of Isildur's heirs, but he was not Roth's lord or king specifically.

He opened his mouth to argue, but realizing that Aragorn had only his best intentions in mind, the Elf closed his mouth quietly and fell back on the comfort that his friend had tried to provide. But as the humans approached Aragorn with a blindfold, Roth stiffened and his lips jerked nervously with self-restraint. He wanted to scream at them, divert their attention, and keep his promise…

Aragorn cocked his head as Unferth and his favoured soldiers closed the circle around him, completely blocking Roth from view.

Unable to see what was about to transpire, Roth licked his dried lips uneasily.

Aragorn was calm in the midst of his captors – or at least outwardly, but the blindfold they held made his stomach clench. He was glad that Roth seemed of no interest to them at the moment, but he also had a sinking fear that it was only because they had something crueller in store for him when they reached their destination. "You just don't seem to understand how helpless you truly are, do you ranger?" Unferth questioned impatiently, obviously looking forward to what he was about to do.

Aragorn normally wouldn't have deigned to answer them, but for Rothinzil's sake, he conjured up a deliberately aggravating retort. "I don't know, do I?"

The words hit the desired nerve. Unferth snarled, his lips pulling back to reveal his ugly, imperfect teeth. The blindfold balled in his clenched fingers as his hands tensed into fists at his sides.

Roth flinched, fighting himself. The order Aragorn had given him just didn't feel right, and he was truly beginning to understand that his conscience wouldn't allow him to follow it without making him sick. He could already feel it working his heart.

When he heard Aragorn give a muffled cry, the Elf squirmed nervously.

Unferth's hands grabbed the ends of the blindfold, tying it off none too gently behind Aragorn's head, purposefully snarling some of the ranger's dark hair in the knot. Aragorn flinched but did nothing else; he didn't possess the energy to. His arrow-wound was making him feel deathly sick and colours exploded behind his closed lids. Licking his lip, Aragorn tasted blood where the Easterling captain's fist had smashed into his lower lip, breaking and bruising the skin.

His other senses automatically sharpened, compensating for the loss of sight. A thrumming sense of panic needled his heart and nerves as the blackness pressed against his eyes.

Roth's hands twisted in their ropes, chafing his skin until it bled. Even for an Elf, he had thin hands and small wrists. And since Unferth was still uninformed about his escaping abilities, the ropes had not been so tight that some amount of pulling couldn't loosen them enough for his hands to snake through.

The commotion and angry shouts that ensued as Roth broke forward, captured Unferth's attention and he ground his heel into the earth as he spun on it, whirling around to face the loosed Elf. Roth had to hastily wrestle down his fear in order to stop himself from skidding to a halt and freezing in front of the captain. A petrifying terror had gripped his bones and muscles, trying to lock them as his mind registered exactly how much trouble he was in and plead with him to stop before it was too late.

Maybe it was best not to think at all.

Unferth made no move to stop the Elf, curious as to what his motives were and underestimating Elven speed. Roth hurled himself past the human captain and put himself protectively between his cruelty and Aragorn.

Aragorn had heard the shouts and sensed Roth's presence in front of him. In response to the fear, and tumult of the situation Roth's Elven radiance had flared and was now engulfing both himself and the ranger in a gentle and unexplainable glow. Aragorn could feel it on his face and hands, soft burning warmth.

Unferth was impressed, having not foreseen this sort of courage or determination in this Elf. However, despite his impressed state, the captain managed to keep his face decidedly dispassionate. Stepping towards the Elf, who fought the urge to reflexively shuffle back, Unferth laughed, waving his soldiers from the captives as they obscured his view. "What is it that you hope to achieve, Elf?" he asked, still chuckling softly.

Roth swallowed before answering. "You aren't going to hurt him," the Elf hissed, accidentally lowering his eyes passively before he could stop himself. Realizing his mistake, Roth aggressively raised them again and focused his glare on his captor's face.

As soon as Aragorn heard these words he wanted to sigh with frustration. He was grateful for Roth's undying loyalty and his selflessness but the dratted Elf just didn't understand! "Roth… stop it!" he growled, suddenly feeling his weakened body fail a little more. The infection was spreading.

The Elf didn't turn his head, keeping to the first rule of his warrior training: never turn your back on your enemy. "Strider, don't," he addressed his friend gently over his shoulder. "I won't let them hurt you, no matter what you say." His Sindarin was roughened by his stressed breathing. Sweat, nervous and cold, was spotting his skin and matting his long dark hair against his neck.

Unferth sighed and shook his head. "Elf, you know you are just digging yourself in deeper, do you not?" Of course the Elf knew. But it didn't really matter, because once they reached the Second Capitol the Elf was going to wish he was dead.

"If you hurt him…if he dies, I swear by the Valar –and by my prince, that you shall learn absolutely nothing from me!" Roth stammered the threat, wondering how much truth there was to it. He was an Elf and could endure quite a bit of pain, but he knew his limits and he was sure that these humans could very well exceed them.

"Is that so?" Unferth asked, smiling amusedly.

Not backing down, Roth steeled himself. "Yes." He suddenly shook his head and then added, "Let me tend to him, please." He flinched as the soldiers around him came and grabbed his arms, dragging him back to reveal the hunched over form of Aragorn. Desperate to keep his friend protected at least until his terms were accepted, Roth threw himself into his captors, making sure that his elbows and knees slammed into the soft parts of their bodies. Their grips loosened against their will and the Elf managed to tear himself free, throwing himself down beside Aragorn.

"I don't bargain with slaves and prisoners," Unferth spat, circling Roth calculatingly as he flexed and cracked his fingers.

Roth said nothing.

"You're a quiet one, aren't ya?" Unferth said, finally stopping his circling in front of the Elf. His boots deliberately crushed the grass, as though saying that was what he would do to Roth if his superiors permitted it. Roth watched the life juice bleed from the long, needle-thin leaves. "Yes you are," the Easterling answered his own question. "Very quiet, but that will change when we reach the Second Capitol. Derufin has a way of helping people find their voice."

Roth stuck his chin out stubbornly. "I will end my life if you hurt him or if he dies; you can't force me to live." However, his chin quivered slightly as he understood the weight of his threat.

Unferth actually burst out laughing, pointedly fingering Roth's trembling chin with his gloved hand. "You don't have the backbone to end your own life!"

Unable to deny the human's insight, Roth diverted his eyes, looking at Aragorn.

"Don't you dare," Aragorn muttered, obviously too sick to speak any louder. "Helluin is going to need you, more than she ever has." He tried to blink behind his blindfold, but gave it up. It wouldn't clear up his vision anyway.

"Sir?" an unobtrusive voice queried, "the scouts have arrived." A smaller man, obviously a simple sentry, back meekly away, and tried to disappear into the shadows.

Releasing Roth's chin, Unferth glared at his followers. "Bind him tighter, this Elf's an artist! I don't care if his fingers turn blue!" It was obvious that he had dealt with prisoners of Roth's escape capabilities before. "The ranger is going nowhere."

The men didn't have a hard time earning Roth's compliance now that Aragorn was being ignored. All the same, they had never dealt with a submissive prisoner before and so the thought never crossed their minds that it was not necessary for them to strike him. Roth flinched, but didn't fight back. The men had also noticed how pretty their captive was and were not above letting him know it in whisperings that their superiors couldn't hear. At one point Roth shuddered violently, when their fingers stroked the points of his ears.

He was returned to the pole and his hands were bound tightly, taking his thin wrists into consideration. Drawing his knees up against his chest, he tried to seem impassive, or merely withdrawn. However, these people had dealt with fear often, in prisoners and themselves, and Roth had never been a good liar. He was terrified, they knew.

Aragorn was kicked as he lay on the ground. Being blinded, he had no way to prepare himself for the sudden blow and he cried out softly, reflexively curling to protect his ribs and abdomen.

Unferth returned shortly, a wicked grin adorning his face. "Now where were we? Oh yes, I remember." Tossing a knife to one of Roth's guards he ordered him to hold it against the Elf's throat. "If you are going to kill yourself, go ahead, slash your own throat."

"Sir, what if he… we need him, sir!"

Unferth smirked as Roth held perfectly still, eyeing the knife stiffly as he stared down his nose. The Elf was barely even breathing. "He isn't going to kill himself," the captain laughed, taunting his captive. "What's wrong, afraid it will hurt for the few seconds you will live? Stupid Elf."

Roth wasn't afraid of it hurting, even marginally. He had felt worse at his own hand, or well, mind. However, names of people to live for echoed through his consciousness: _Helluin, Legolas, Aragorn, Thranduil, and the twins…Helluin's unborn child_! He had grown up in a broken family, which in turn had lead to no family and he wasn't going to leave his child to grow up fatherless.

Aragorn understood what Roth was doing even though he couldn't see the Elf and he was proud of him. He knew how scared the warrior was and he knew how tempting it would be to end everything right here, forever. The Elf had to be walking in nightmares that had been long abandoned but never forgotten.

"Strider!" He heard Roth's panicked cry seconds before he felt the impact of Unferth's boot against his ribs. Something groaned inside of him, and he was dimly aware of a second warning before whatever had groaned beneath his skin buckled. A rib.

And somewhere deep inside, he knew that this was only the beginning. He knew why Roth was so scared.

:0Ї0:

Legolas loved trees as much as any other Elf, but two days of sitting in their boughs made for a sore rear no matter who you were, especially when you were forced to climb extremely high into the thinning branches. Shifting cautiously, he waited for feeling to come back into his legs as he eased himself off a branch. The only good thing was that he had yet to be found, and he knew they were searching the woods thoroughly.

For amusement and his own sanity he had taken to counting hounds that would pass beneath the bow of the tree. So far he had counted six. An even number. He was surprised that their uniquely acute sense of smell had missed his scent, though to be fair, the ground was wet with rain.

It was getting dark and Legolas groaned inwardly, not looking forward to another night spent in the trees. Panic needled his heart as he realized that another day had passed without knowing what fate had befallen his friends. Staring at the red sunset sinking behind the lake, staining the water an ominous crimson, Legolas wondered whose blood had been spilled.

Dubiously eyeing the ground below, Legolas frowned before deciding that the quickest way down was to skip all the branches. He had to find his friends, or at least, find some information on them. Leaping clear of the branches except for a few minor twigs, Legolas landed lightly on the ground, bending his knees to absorb the impact. His Elven agility and weightlessness barely ruffled the leaves beneath his feet during his landing from the ten-foot drop. Soundlessly, he straightened and then assumed perfect stillness, eyeing the foliage suspiciously.

When no immediate danger presented itself and he wasn't forced to dodge arrows, the Elf took a few cautious steps towards the rough direction of Dale and Lake Town. Pulling his cloak tighter about himself and flipping his hood up to draw it around his face, Legolas did his best to make himself less conspicuous.

He contemplated going to visit Helluin and see if she knew any more than he did, but then he decided against it almost immediately. If he was still being looked for and possibly tracked then the last thing he wanted to do was lead the danger right to the front door of his best friend's home. Sighing, the Elf realized that there was no place safe to go but his home, but he couldn't leave his friends.

A light wind picked up, causing the branches of the trees to groan and their leaves to whisper. The wind picked up in its tenacity and a thicker branch fell, breaking a few others in its path as it spiralled downward. However, as soon as it struck the ground a high pitched squeal of metal hissed in the air and the branch was lying on in the leaves in two parts, an iron-jawed trap lying between the two pieces.

Muscles tensing, Legolas' eyes narrowed as he eyed the device with disgust. It was inhumane. He had seen many an animal that had chewed its foot off in its efforts to regain its freedom. Sickened, the Elf backed away, mindful of where he stepped. Although typically set for animals, he had a feeling that trap had been meant for him and he was wondering how many more had been set. It was odd, he had not seen these humans come and set these traps.

Deciding that he was less likely to find trouble and danger in the trees, Legolas climbed up an inviting tall one. Balancing without much effort on one of the long, slender branches, Legolas ran along its length, easily transferring himself from tree to tree until he was in the outskirts of the forest. However, he wasn't ready to leave the secure foliage of the boughs just yet. Once out of the forest, he would have to go through what was left of the Desolation of Smaug and be in plain view, a pretty target for anyone who was half-way decent at archery.

Not liking the idea, Legolas lingered in the trees, keeping a sharp surveillance.

However, he soon came the conclusion that if he didn't move now, he never would. He would get no better chances. There wasn't a human in sight.

Leaping the tree, once again skipping the branches, Legolas landed lightly on the ground. He didn't straighten up right away, but remained at a crouch, poised for a fight. His hands instinctively prepared to reach for his knives or bow, whichever was necessary.

Finding no assailants, the Elf straightened and fixed his hood closer about his face, despite the heat. Being an Elf, its effect wasn't as potent on him as it was on humans. The hood didn't feel the least bit suffocating.

Deciding on a path that ducked through the less conspicuous portions of the Desolation area, Legolas started off at a jog. Despite the dropping temperature, the humidity alone was enough to make most people consider a walk to be fast enough. Not Legolas. His Elven endurance and speed allowed him to cover ground quickly, something that he realized he had often taken for granted.

Stealing to the outskirts of the town of Dale, Legolas smiled softly in triumph. He had not been even so much as chased yet.

The best cover he could find was some poor excuses for shrubs, and he crouched behind them. Their branches obscured the view of his cloaked, forest green form and their tangled twigs disguised him well enough that it made a safe enough resting place as long as the dogs decided to leave him alone. All it would take was one hound to pick up his smell and put him in serious danger.

He wasn't tired, so he really didn't need the rest, but his thoughts were severely jumbled with options he could take. On the one hand he could leave now, and try to find Roth and Aragorn's trail. But he really didn't know what to expect and he wanted to know what he was up against – all of which was probably available if he 'visited' the right places.

Sighing in realization, Legolas almost turned to ask Aragorn what he thought should be done. But Aragorn wasn't there and he knew all that he would be talking to was the wind, or maybe a branch –something like that. Silently, he asked himself what his friend would do in a situation such as this.

Wrinkling his nose with amusement and mild disgust, Legolas realized that Aragorn would probably find a comfortable, popular tavern – the obnoxious kind - and sit and listen inconspicuously in a corner. To appease the tavern-keeper he would order an ale or two. Legolas made a face, thinking of the times that Aragorn had forced him into drinking the amber liquid. Now he would let Aragorn shove it down his throat if the human would magically appear without injury.

Trusting to Aragorn's favourite course of action and not having any better ideas himself, Legolas rose, brushing the bits of mud off his leggings at their knees. He was slightly hungry anyway, having not eaten in two or three days and he was wondering if a little something might settle his stomach. It had seemed intent on doing the most sickening cartwheels and acrobatics since this whole business began.

Daring to venture cautiously beyond his ugly little refuge of bramble-bushes, Legolas forced himself to keep moving towards Dale, which was one of the last places he wanted to be at the moment. Being a centre for trade, it was bound to hold some trouble.

Once inside the little town, he was grateful to find that the streets were only sparsely dotted with people and that he wasn't likely going to be noticed. Surveying the area with his keen eyes, he watched one door in particular. People – men, were bustling in and out, usually going in steady and coming out staggering. Apparently this was the place to be.

Smiling grimly, Legolas started towards the small building. It had a thatched roof and if one ignored its contents they might consider it to be a cosy establishment. A warm glow infused the streets from the windows, welcoming people.

As Legolas started through the door, a larger man shouldered his way out, pitching forwards against the Elf. Disgusted and annoyed, Legolas tried to shove him off, but the man's hands entwined in his cloak and tunic, twisting the fabric and causing his victim to scowl angrily. Legolas' hands pried the other's free even as the human slurred… "Move…outa my wayyyyyy… p-p-p-pllleassssure meeeeeeeting you…"

Giving the human a shove to get on his way, the Elf muttered under his breath, "Wish I could say the same."

He stood there for a moment, allowing people to walk past him. That human he had just encountered had been an Easterling, or he was a fool. The man's accent, though slurred by his alcohol-consumption, was distinctly of the Eastern tongue, like those of the Dunlanders. However, he wore no uniform and seemed to be simply accepted among his fellow mortals. Legolas was surprised, but unsure what to think. The people of Dale and Lake-town were of a close knit community, one that didn't take kindly to outsiders.

Remembering this, he thought it best if he became invisible as quickly as possible.

Ducking into the tavern, he followed Aragorn's typical routine and ordered one of the house brews, hiding any misgivings he had. Finding a comfortable nook in the corner, Legolas seated himself on a convenient stool and melted into the shadows.

Uneventful. Nothing happened. Nothing. Legolas could feel his carefully guarded calm slipping between his fingers like thinning smoke. Uneasy, he carefully shifted and stared at the mug of jostled amber liquid sloshing around. It looked gross… but tasted… tasted all right, he supposed. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, alarmed as he realized he had even dared to sample the stuff.

To rid himself of his nervous edge, Legolas busied himself scrutinizing the people surrounding him. They were much the same as any people he had seen. But it didn't take him long to notice one abnormality: a lot of them strongly resembled Easterlings. As a matter of fact, he wouldn't be surprised if they were pure Easterlings.

Chewing on his lower lip, Legolas wondered if Roth had known there were this many of them infiltrated among the town's people. Probably, but being raised with humans, it was doubtful that he saw the significance. Ah, well, Legolas couldn't really blame him.

All the same, he was not Rothinzil, and so many of these people bothered him. Easterlings weren't supposed to be around here. They never intermixed with anyone else.

Legolas was still contemplating all of this when movement at the door caught his eye and he directed his attention to the entrance of the tavern. Three people were making their way inside, and he recognized them without a second glance. His hand tightened so tightly around the handle of his mug that he was mildly amazed that it did not shatter. However, he did nothing that might attract any unwanted attention. His eyes, however, glittered angrily.

It was three out of the numberless men that had attacked them… attacked them and taken his friends captive. Or, maybe they were simply dead.

The men sat down, uncomfortably close to the Elf, and ordered a round of drinks. Their dark looks caused Legolas to shiver from his corner as a combination of anger and fear wrapped itself around his spine, chilling it.

"Did either of you get a good look at that dark-haired Elf's face?" one man to Ulrad's left asked, obviously trying to be appeasing. However, since they were in civilian dress and attempting to remain inconspicuous the word "sir" was temporarily omitted.

Legolas stiffened, afraid of what he might hear. And yet he couldn't divert his attention.

"He was white, like he had seen a ghost or somethin'!" continued the man with a laugh, relieved when Ulrad smiled slightly at the satisfying memory. For a few moments the captain believed that he had not made a fatal error. "And his eyes were this big!" The story-teller made an O on either hand with his thumb and forefinger, demonstratively holding them up to his eyes.

A surge of anger bolted through the Elf and the air around Legolas suddenly seemed too hot to breathe, at least in the Elf's opinion. His muscles tightened. For a moment, he ignored his lungs' plea for air, too intent on listening.

Ulrad laughed aloud at the memory. Yes, that Elven warrior had been quite frightened, satisfyingly so.

The struggle of getting Roth to mount the horse was animatedly recounted, causing Legolas' blood pressure to steadily rise with every word. Outwardly, he remained stoic, but inside he was churning.

The last comment referring to Roth twisted a pit of ice in Legolas' stomach and he finally drew a sharp breath.

"_He was a pretty one_."

However, Legolas' anger hardly subsided when their conversation shifted topic slightly, and featured Aragorn. From the snatches of conversation that he was calm enough to listen to comprehensively, Legolas concluded that Aragorn had gotten at least one severe wound.

"He was bleed'n buckets! You remember?" the talkative man asked his captain and friend boastfully. "And that Elf tried to help him…" He chuckled reminiscently. He then recounted in vivid detail how he had removed the arrow, and the horror etched on Roth's face as well as Aragorn's pain.

This was more than Legolas could take and when he closed his eyes lights and colours distorted the darkness. Frustration pressed behind his eyes, turning into a relentless headache. He grimaced behind his hood, wanting to jump up and take Ulrad by his collar…

And what he found disturbing as well as sickening was that no one in the tavern seemed to find their topic of conversation even questionable. Although, to be honest he doubted they were listening. Listening was a great way to get into trouble.

"She's a wench!" It had not taken the already emotionally unstable Ulrad long to spill out his true feelings towards Aüla once he had consumed enough alcohol. "She refuses my company unless I get the blonde Elf!"

His companions all seemed surprised. No women usually turned down their superior, and those that did he forced himself on. "Then get the Elf," one suggested, trying to seem mollifying. He was sure to stay out of punching distance.

Ulrad scowled at him from across the table. "I will, and then I will make him pay for all his trouble. He is going to wish he had perished in that battle, or gone with his friends." Ulrad didn't appreciate being turned down by his mistress, and above all, because he had let someone escape who was meant to be detained. A sane person wouldn't have blamed Legolas for escaping…but Ulrad wasn't sane.

"I would," encouraged his other companion.

Legolas smirked under his hood, unable to help himself. He knew they would, which is why he wasn't going to make himself easy to get. However, he had some questions that needed answering, and they were going to be answered before this night was through.

:0Ї0:

Just when Legolas had thought his patience had reached its limits, Ulrad staggered up from his chair, followed closely by one of his friends. The other was incapacitated. Obviously they had ingested more than their share of alcohol.

Abandoning their unconscious companion, Ulrad and his friend staggered towards the door. They were making a rather dramatic exit and more than one person was swearing at them before they reached their destination.

Legolas inconspicuously rose with intentions to trail them, still shadowed in his corner and so far easily concealed. However, his concealment didn't last. It had been one of those things that were too good to be true.

As fate would have it –devious fate, more than just Ulrad and his friends enjoyed a few rounds of drinks. One man, also on his way out of the door, tripped over a chair, absentmindedly stumbling in Legolas' direction. He caught himself on the unsuspecting Elf, clumsily pulling on Legolas' cloak for support. However, despite his grip on Legolas' attire, his knees couldn't withstand his own weight in his incoherent state and they buckled under him. His grip on Legolas never loosened.

The damage was done before Legolas could do anything. His cloak was pulled from him and his long blonde hair cascaded down his shoulders. However, it didn't cover his pointy ears or hide his outward glow, which was bathing the room and surprised faces in warm, white light.

Stunned, no one moved. Ulrad, even though not fully lucid, easily recognized the face of the Elf that had caused him so much grief. A dull clang reverberated through the smoke-thickened air as he drew his sword from its careful hiding spot inside of his coat. His companion stared at his captain for a moment and then followed his example.

Legolas set his jaw and prepared to square off against the humans. His hands went for his knives, even in this situation not approving of using a bow indoors. Pinned in the corner, he didn't have adequate room to draw back anyway. His first drunken assailant was still at his feet on the floor, hindering his movements and gaping up at him in awe.

Not equally impressed, the Elf kicked the drunken man out of his way, giving his feet room to assume a defensive stance. The man grumbled in protest, calling a slurred curse on all Elves before pulling himself to his feet and staggering to safety. Legolas hardly noticed. His eyes were locked on his opponents. They were drunk, but he had learned that despite their incoherent state, drunken men holding a weapon could prove even more dangerous than a sober one.

His hands held his knives, poised for a fight.

No one moved except for the tavern-keeper, who quickly decided that this was out of his hands and ducked behind his counter. Something told him this was no ordinary brawl and he didn't like the looks of the swords in the least. Maybe he should send one of the small upkeep boys to run for the constabulary… maybe…

A sharp clang of metal clashing on metal ricocheted off the walls, causing him to flinch. He heard an Elvish swearword and more fighting, pursued by a loud crash that sounded suspiciously like one of his tables being thrown or at least toppled over, along with numerous ceramic mugs and dishes. He winced. All those dishes…

Then there was the smell of smoke, wafting thickly through the air. It was a heavier scent than the typical amount of cinder-scent that permanently lingered in the place. And the scent was growing with the temperature of the room.

Fire. A candle had been knocked over. The bone dry wood easily caught fire and the blaze spread quickly.

Legolas eyed the hungry flames cautiously, eyes alight in their greedy glow. It was bad enough to have to predict the moves of drunken, angry braggarts with weapons and a good reason to lynch him, but now he had to keep an eye out for where the flames went too. And they were much more tricky and unfortunately, equally dangerous.

Legolas looked around, mildly disappointed and alarmed when he realized they were keeping him at bay in his original corner. The fire was aiding them…trapping him as its flames crawled up the wall. Their heat scorched against his face, even from a distance. This tavern was going to be levelled, or at least severely gutted and ultimately worthless.

However, Legolas didn't have time for sympathy so he pushed those thoughts from his mind, quickly forced to parry a blow from an oncoming sword. He made a face inwardly. He had almost been too late with that one.

The door to the tavern was thrown open and Legolas' attention momentarily diverted. He almost rolled his eyes in frustration when he saw more men piling in: Easterling men. He doubted they had come with intentions to help _him_. It was at that moment that he chose to admit to himself that he was in real trouble, trouble that he might not walk out of.

Unfortunately, these men had not brought swords, but bows. Legolas groaned. His chances of getting out of here with his arms free and his weapons in hand became very slim indeed.

While he was contemplating this, something caught him in the diaphragm, driving his breath from him. A knee perhaps? He staggered to the side, gasping for air. Well, it had been something hard and heavy…

Suddenly the floor seemed much closer and his whole world blackened.

There was a crash as the Elf was rendered unconscious and crumpled forward onto the wooden floor. His blonde hair spilled around his face and his blue eyes rolled back into his head while his hands loosened their grip on his knives. The blades slid to the floor, leaving him empty-handed.

Giving the unconscious Elf a harsh kick, Ulrad left him to the others and made his way around the burning wreckage to the counter. Peering over it, he spotted the bar-tender and tossed down a bag of coins. The coins spilled out with a metallic jingle. "That's enough to rebuild this establishment, so be grateful. You never saw anything, understand?"

Miserably, the man behind the counter nodded and started gathering up the money. "I never saw anything," he agreed.

**TBC...sorry to end this here, but...well okay, neither of us are sorry. LOL You guys all know you missed the cliffies...and they missed you too. **

**Please review! Thank you! They mean the world to us. **

**And by the way, I am still on vacation in Colorado and am catching a plane in the morning so if Tin doesn't do review responses they will have to wait -sorry, but I want to try and get SOME sleep tonight. But thanks for all the encouragement! We love you all SO much:D (((hugs))) you guys are great! Keep it up please!**


	4. Elves Hate The Dark

**Okay, this chapter is going to hve to be posted really, really fast as we are both on the run with a bustling schedule, but I have to say that this chapter has NOT been beta read and so, therefore, is probably a cesspool for errors. Hopefully they don't ruin this story for you. ;)**

_Dementia_

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Elves Hate the Dark

Roth barely lifted his chin to grace his sorry surroundings with one sweeping glance. His eyes were glazed with weariness and were windows into his bleak heart, which felt like it was laboring in his chest. The armed human on the horse that stalked menacingly beside him gave him a goading shove on the side of his head, hoping his captive would trip as he staggered sideways. Roth managed to catch himself, barely, but his movements were sluggish and conservative.

Aragorn was lying across a horse drudging on Roth's opposite side, unconscious. The animal seemed acceptingly depressed, as though it had never known anything better than the dismal, crumbling village that they were slugging through. Sighing, Roth found that his spirit already felt weighed down, suffocated in this place.

It was nearing dusk and as he gazed at the blackening sky he realized the stars were absent here. There wasn't even a shred of light from the sky and Elbereth's comforting net of gems. The Valar didn't appear to have a hand here. Shivering, he sent a fervent prayer to Elbereth that he might don her protection, and that she might shield Aragorn from further harm. "I would take his place," he mumbled inaudibly in Sindarin. "And look after Helluin and our baby," he added, feeling like he had scraped the bottom of his heart.

Falling silent, he risked a look at Aragorn. The man's face was an unhealthy shade of pale spotted with dried blood and bruises. The Elf swallowed silently. All the fear and confusion he had only just recently banned from his thoughts came back, shredding at his sanity and pawing at his heart. Their claws found a foothold and ripped mercilessly as he wondered if Aragorn was even alive.

Frustrated by the helplessness of the situation, and deciding against further scaring himself, Roth diverted his eyes to the road.

It didn't take them long to reach their destination: a decrepit, stone castle, obviously cold and reeking of evil. The spiritual scent of evil was so strong that Roth actually broke his stride and stood, fixated to the spot with locked joints.

Unferth noticed the hold up and rolled his eyes in frustration. Why did all the Elves _always_ have to resist here? Maybe it was because they knew from here that there was no escape unless through death, he didn't know. Turning his mount, he urged the horse to the rear, where Roth and his punishing captor were being bypassed by everyone.

Roth's lip had reopened from a punch to the face and he was bent over, breathing heavily with his bound hands braced protectively over his middle. Dark hair obscured his pain-creased face. He had obviously been roughed up.

The man glowering above him wouldn't have shown the Elf any mercy if not for an interference by Unferth. The captain assumed things from here and edged the other man away from their prize, sending him to catch up with his comrades. The weary men were already shrinking into the distance.

Turning to Roth, Unferth decided to take care of the problem himself. The Elf had staggered back slightly, trying to outdistance the length of the blows he was sure that he would receive. Roth wasn't afraid of being hit, but he didn't appreciate the frequency of the abuse. If ever he had a prisoner, he would never be this cruel. That was a promise.

"Elf, do you realize how futile this little rebellion of yours is? You are only digging yourself in deeper, trust me," he said, becoming suspiciously cordial –almost sympathetic. The liar. If this was sympathy, then Roth wondered what they considered apathy.

"You have something evil in there," he hissed, backpedaling a few more feet, warily eyeing the castle, grateful of the maintained distance.

"Evil?" Unferth asked, his eyes mockingly wide. "Is that any way to refer to one's home?"

Roth turned his head away and looked behind him at the trail of mixed imprints they had left in the muddy track behind them. How he wished that he could follow that track back to his home, back to safety. But all footprints pointed forward, there was no returning.

"You would really hate for your friend to be with my lord all by himself, now wouldn't you? He could get really hurt."

Roth sucked gingerly on his bloodied lip, which was already sporting a dull, purpling bruise. The mud made soft gurgling noises under his feet as he shifted his weight unhappily. "If I come …will he be given adequate time for recovery?" he asked quietly.

Unferth shrugged uncaringly. "I have no idea."

The answer wasn't much to work with. Roth frowned indecisively, but finally stepped closer. His face had paled a couple shades and he refused to look in the direction of the cold, forbidding stone-castle.

Unferth grabbed the Elf's shirt collar, yanking him up off of his feet by it. Roth had a light frame, even for an Elf and his feet kicked helplessly, inches above the ground. Spooked by the floundering Elf, the horse nickered unhappily and tossed her head. "You will be on your best behavior," he snarled, all cordialness called off, "or your friend will suffer for your stupidity!"

He flung Roth from him then, watching as the Elf slipped precariously in the mud before regaining his footing. Unferth's horse became at ease, grateful the clumsy, troublesome creature was away from her. The Elf frightened her, not because he was cruel in anyway but because he was different.

All her life the horse had only seen and felt evil, but this Elf radiated with something different that she couldn't understand. Unferth's heels digging harshly into her ribs calmed her, despite the fact that they refreshed old bruises partially forgotten. She understood that gesture. She broke into an edgy trot.

A jerk at the rope around his wrists pulled Roth after the horse and rider. He didn't resist, feeling crushed and confused.

They were close to the fortress now, and Roth's head seemed to be permanently lowered as he refused to acknowledge his surroundings. It was so much easier if he didn't have to see the strange, twisted statues and their snarling faces leering at him. It was so much easier to ignore the cold stone and the equally cold evil emanating from them as though it drew strength from the bastion's very foundations.

Unferth eventually dismounted, and assigning the handling of Aragorn's limp form to one of his underlings, he proceeded to drag Roth through the threshold of the huge, ornate doors. The Elf didn't resist overly much, and managed to steal one last glance over his shoulder before the heavy doors slammed shut at his back and the corridor seemed much darker.

Nervous, and not wanting to be separated, he edged closer to Aragorn and his bearer. Unferth noticed and smiled quietly to himself. Tightening his hand on Roth's bonds, he yanked the Elf away from the ranger purely out of spite. The less comfortable the pointy-eared creature was, the better it suited him.

They reached a large room at the end of the corridor, flanked on either side of the entrance by some burly guards who looked very serious about their job. Good fellows. Unferth bellowed a command for them to inform their king of his arrival and his prizes.

They were hesitant. "He is…his condition has waned. His orders were to see no one."

Roth cocked his head to the side, lifting it for the first time in several long minutes. Condition? Was their lord sick? Curious, he stopped pouting inwardly and took advantage of their blatant conversation. Even if he could learn nothing useful for means of escape, he could still ascertain more about why he had been captured -hopefully.

"He is very sick at this hour," the guards were hesitant to speak of his debilitating state before the two present prisoners, not liking to portray their lord as weak.

Roth feigned disinterest, hoping to encourage the conversation. He blinked his hazel eyes innocently, as though he was much too naive to understand any of this exchange.

Unferth shifted uneasily, obviously weighing the news in his mind. His lord's condition was not uncommon. Over half of the population was suffering from it. It was the result of living within the shadow of Dol Guldur and being directly under its sway. Often foul winds blew from that direction, as did many other things and on it came this debilitating plague for which there was no cure. People used to think that orcs carried it; for they used to visit the town often enough to make sure that the Necromancer got his due. But they had not come for a long time –and were overdue.

The fact was that if you lived here you were not expected to live past your thirties, whether you contracted the disease or not. Those who did not contract the disease and remained strong were forced into the military at an early age. The military was the only point of strength, which wasn't how it used to be.

Unferth remembered a time when Ulfang had been very strong as well. He had seemed to be made of iron, and then one day he took ill and never got better. His brilliant mind and strong will were doing a good job of retaining him his position as king, but his body was going to fail him soon.

"When do you think is the earliest I can have an audience with him?" Unferth asked quietly, clearly demoralized. This idea to break away from the Necromancer and his detrimental rule was Ulfang's and if he died the entire thing fell through. The prince of failure was one that not a single soul in this jurisdiction could afford.

"Come back tomorrow morning. In the mean time," one of the guards suggested calmly, staring from Roth to Aragorn, "you could probably skip preamble and put the prisoners in their cells. I am sure they are travel-weary." His voice held a sharp, mocking edge.

Unferth agreed, and gave Roth an encouraging shove to the right, manhandling him towards the branch of corridor that led below, to the cells. The other man holding Aragorn followed awkwardly behind. At some points, Roth was completely unwilling and had to be forcefully dragged down a staircase or around a corner. His feet desperately sought traction on the stone floor, every now and then finding a crack that he could dig his heels into.

Unfortunately, these became harder and harder to find until they were nonexistent and before he knew it he was being shoved through rows and rows of filthy cells. Some of them were occupied –if you could call it that, by political prisoners who really were no more alive than the iron and stones that held them in. The haunting images of their gaunt faces and lifeless eyes trailed the Elf and he knew he would see them in his nightmares.

One last cell stood at the end of the rows, conveniently in the darkest part of the room. Of course this was the one that was opened with a screech as the door scraped the ground and the small space inside was revealed. Sparse clumps of straw dotted the floor and thick chains dangled from the walls, obviously having seen liberal use before.

Rothinzil paused outside the threshold, feeling his joints locking again as he realized that once he was forced in that small, dark, cold space, then he might never come out. His hazel eyes were wide with much fear and as they caught the torchlight Unferth laughed coldly as he heard the Elf's uneven, rapid breathing.

Elves really hated the dark.

Placing his hand between Roth's shoulder blades, he thrust him forward into the cramped space. Roth stumbled forward, wanting to get out from under the other's touch badly enough to risk the suffocating confines of the cell. However, he didn't evade the human, who pressed him back against the wall by the throat.

Whipping out a knife, he paused momentarily to inform Aragorn's carrier of where to secure him. The ranger was placed sitting against the wall while chains fastened around his wrists at shoulder height. Other cuffs clamped around his ankles. Roth watched apprehensively as Aragorn remained unresponsive to everything and slumped forward against the restraints, still unconscious.

His other prisoner secured, the man returned his attention to Roth. Playing with the knife for a moment, he enjoyed the suppressed fear in the Elf's eyes before bringing the blade between Roth's wrists. The ropes slid from the thin wrists and blood flow rushed back into Roth's fingers, causing no small amount of pain.

However, they weren't given long to recover as each of his wrists were locked in place by icy manacles. Remembering Roth's earlier antics, he allowed the metal cuffs to bite into the Elf's skin, assuring that they were tight enough. Heavier manacles were placed snugly around his ankles.

Unferth's hand on the side of his face tore Roth from his fascination with the restraints, causing him to withdraw against the wall. Helpless. His captor chuckled at his reaction. "I will return and I seriously hope you are smarter than others like you. It isn't good to get on his highness' bad side, but you'll find out soon enough."

Roth shivered as the cold of the wall seemed to seep into his bones, coupling with the despair of his situation. Unferth stood up, brushing off his knees as he prepared to leave his captives for the night.

Smiling cruelly at the Elf, he turned and walked out, slamming the cell door shut behind him. It rattled loudly and dust fell from the ceiling. Roth flinched as some tiny stones hit his nose and he tried to curl protectively tighter into himself. Once he was sure that Unferth was truly gone and not listening at the door to hear his childish confessions of fear, he raised his head from his knees. "Strider?" he whispered hoarsely in the direction he had seen them chain the human. His voice was choked with fear. Those Elves in the important tales were much braver than he had ever commended them for.

There was no answer for a moment and then a rough voice answered back in the dark, "Roth?"

There was the metallic rustle of chains as the Elf stirred restlessly. "Strider!" A surprised voice bounced off the walls of the cell, sounding cold and foreign to Roth's ears. He flinched at his own voice.

"Yes, now shhh…silly Wood-elf," Aragorn remonstrated gently, trying to sound as soothing as possible with a couple of broken ribs and a busted lip –and probably more than that.

Roth wasn't appeased. "I thought you were unconscious?" he questioned, concern and stress giving his voice an unnatural edge.

Aragorn shifted uneasily. "No…not really." He didn't know how to explain this without making Roth angry. "It was…a pretense…to keep me from being used…against you. They couldn't cause me pain…if I was unconscious…"

The warrior surprisingly understood and his resonating light brightened with relief, illuminating the small cell. Not sure what to say, he turned his attention to prison exploration, at least visual exploration. If he had been able to stretch his legs out he was sure that they could touch the other side of the space and be flat-footed against the opposing wall.

Finally, bored and disliking the silence more and more, the Elf whispered quietly, "what do you think is going to happen to us?" He had his own theories, but he had to admit that Aragorn and Legolas found themselves in these situations far more often. The way he often dragged them home didn't offer much hope for their situation.

Aragorn sighed, trying to think around his pounding headache. The old fire…it was returning. They had said it would. He would never be cured of it for ten years. Unnerved as memories of its agonies tickled his mind, he tried to apply himself to Roth's question, if for no other reason than to distract him from his own growing suspicions about his worsening condition. "I don't know…we'll probably be questioned, and beyond that…it's anyone's guess really."

To Aragorn's surprise Rothinzil's reaction was minimal. He just shrugged deeper into his chains and pulled his knees up to his chest. "Lovely," his bitter sarcasm masked the leaden terror that festered inside of his heart.

More unbearable silence.

"How are you doing? Is your arrow wound bothering you still?" Roth cocked his head to the side, staring at his friend with knitted brows. His lips made a goofy looking frown, showing his undying immaturity as his chin puckered slightly.

Aragorn stared at the ground, and then gradually eased his knees up to his chest. "I'm dying."

The dismayed gasp that followed caused Aragorn the stifle a rueful chuckle. "Strider that is not FUNNY!" Roth seethed, desiring to cross his arms only to be restrained by the chains that bound him effectively to the wall. "You are just as bad as Legolas!"

"That is the pot calling the kettle black," Aragorn replied hoarsely as his ribs remonstrated with waves of iron-banded pain, his body paying for his laughter. "Elves…so protective…"

Roth huffed, pouting as he set his chin on his knees. "Well when there are so many clumsy humans…"

Aragorn noted the lack of heart in his friend's comeback and he dropped his sarcastic edge. "We'll be alright in the end, you'll see." He lent his friend a soft, supposedly reassuring smile.

If there was a way to smile without conviction and still look reassuring, Roth had found it. "Of course." The Elf closed his eyes in an attempt to numb himself to their situation. His stomach felt sick and he swallowed thickly, forcing the bile back down.

Aragorn looked determinedly at the chains that secured their wrists to the wall, but after a few tugs gave up on budging them. Roth's left hand was inches away from his own, just out of reach. Visually examining his friend, he realized this was one of the first times that he had seen the Elf completely dissolve.

Giving himself a rather harsh _self_-examination, the realization that he had been in this sort of situation far too often broke over his numbed heart. Some part of Aragorn was scared –very, very scared, but somehow it wasn't registering. His hands were shaking with illness and fever but the fear refrained from coursing through his veins.

He heard the Elf's breathing catch and his voice muttering inaudibly, as a small snuffle escaped him. His head was turned away, bowed shamefully. Aragorn recognized two words of his friend's bitter, broken Elvish. "_I'm sorry…_"

"Roth there is nothing for you to be sorry about," he broached his friend gently.

The Elf looked apologetically at Aragorn. "Legolas told me to protect you," he confessed heartbrokenly. "I couldn't do that. I still can't do that."

Aragorn frowned, studying the guilt-damaged eyes of the Elf. "Things were out of your control-"

"Oh yes, and that is supposed to feel comforting?" he snapped, finally reaching his limits. "I can't do anything here! Nothing at all!" If it were only himself –although he would hate being alone in this dark, dreary cell, he could deal with it.

"Roth-"

The Elf was not being rational. "Strider they already harmed you twice and I wasn't able to do anything! NOTHING! What if they do it again?" His voice shook with emotion and he sucked in a deep breath. "What if I can't keep Mirkwood's secret? What if I am too weak?"

Ah, there was the problem, Aragorn noted understandingly. "Roth you are strong…Mirkwood is in good hands," he assured. "Legolas will be proud, as will Helluin."

Roth smiled a sickly smile, obviously making an effort to pull himself together. "She would be." She admired him a lot, and he was well aware of it. Her warm scent, which reminded him of vanilla –or something like that, suddenly seemed to cloud around him and his stomach jerked. "But if I am strong enough...if I keep those secrets…I will never see her again." He would be tortured to death, just like the others.

Suddenly, the dark of the cell seemed to deepen to impossible depths. Aragorn felt like he was going to throw up. Roth was right. Roth's baby may never get a chance to know his father. He had sacrificed a lot in his life, and he had seen Legolas sacrifice more than he was capable of giving, but this seemed like it was too much…no, it _was_ too much.

:0Ї0:

Legolas sighed, settling angrily back into his bonds, wincing as his chaffed wrists voiced their complaints. They had left him here, after roughing him up a bit. Apparently he wasn't exactly the foremost of their priorities at the moment.

Leaning his head back against the cold wall, Legolas silently wondered where 'here' exactly was. Unfortunately, he had remained unconscious throughout his initial capture and didn't have the chance to take in his surroundings. He guessed that they were still within the confines of Dale or Lake-town, because he just couldn't believe that he had been unconscious for more than a few hours.

Groaning, he wished that it wasn't dark. Wherever he was being held reeked with the familiarity of a cave. Though initially having been startled when he had come around and blinked, only to discover that he still couldn't see, Legolas had found that the thought of being in a dark cave was no longer as disturbing as it had been at one time. He still was far from comfortable about it, but the fear was not debilitating –it didn't control him.

His Elven senses had been sharpened to compensate for his temporary loss of sight, giving him a very exaggerated, sensitive perception of his environment. The minutest noise that would never have been picked up by a human seemed to resonate.

A new and out of place noise caught his attention and he inclined his head slightly, trying to make sense of it. Footsteps, but they were not surrounding him –they were above him. It was as though someone was walking on a floor right above him and the wood was groaning under their weight. Dust flittered down from above, sprinkling on the Elf's face and he recoiled, annoyed.

His hand suddenly jerked as he recognized the creepy feeling of eight probing little legs making their way up his arm. He lived in Mirkwood and spiders by no means scared him. He had found it highly amusing when he and his father had first taken Roth in and the Elf had seen a miniature spider creeping along the floorboards. It had taken fifteen minutes of coaxing to get the dark-haired Elf to chance stepping off of the chair he had huddled on. Of course once he had saw the much larger, more devious spiders it had taken even more coaxing to get him to set foot outside.

Legolas shrugged mentally, trying to ignore the grotesque feeling of the arachnid's scratchy, tickling legs. If he jerked it might get alarmed and bite him. Briefly he wondered if it was one of the venomous varieties…

More footsteps creaked overhead and then there was a grating screech followed seconds later by a streak of light that cut directly into Legolas' eyes. The Elf blinked rapidly, trying to adjust as he watched the outlines of captors move in and out of growing square of light. Well at least he wasn't in a cave, although he couldn't say this was much better.

Two figures descended down the steps, illuminating the steps before them with two outstretched lanterns. Angry and frustrated, Legolas did not have to pretend not to be afraid. He was genuinely too angry to have room for fear in his emotions.

When they finally stood before him his glare darkened and his fingers flexed as his hands tested his bonds once more, wondering if perhaps by chance they might have weakened any. Fortunately for Ulrad and his lady the ropes held and the Elf remained where he was: bound with his hands behind his back, sitting on the ground with his knees drawn to his chest.

For having suffered a pretty severe hangover, Ulrad looked pretty decent. His hair had been brushed at some point or another and his clothes were fresh. He was making an obvious effort to keep a sloppy, sleep-craving expression off his face. He was still sporting a bruise or two from the previous night but there really wasn't much that he could do about that.

Aüla was another story.

She was the epitome of fresh. Her long dark hair was obviously combed and recently washed and her clothes were of a perfect fit, showing off exactly what she wanted to emphasize –which was everything. Her nails were well taken care of and her skin glowed. The only noticeable mark marring her appearance was the barley conspicuous red mark on her neck.

"Prince Legolas, I presume?" she asked sweetly, reaching out to touch his face. Ulrad stiffened protectively, jealous.

Legolas recoiled at the touch of her cold hand on his cheek, visibly repulsed. "Don't touch me woman," he growled.

Aüla complied, standing back up and crossing her arms. "Do you know why you are here, Elf?" she asked, raising her brow as she stared him down. Ulrad glowered beside her, cracking his knuckles.

Deciding he had nothing to lose, Legolas didn't try to seem mollifying. Cocking his head, he snarled, "Should I? Where are my friends-"

"They aren't here. By now they should be at the Second Capitol," Aüla allowed him an answer, interrupting his tirade.

Legolas' hackles rose inwardly and his hands twisted in his bonds. If the spider was still on him, he couldn't tell and he didn't care. "Why did you do this?" he hissed, his voice tight with anger.

She laughed, as though the answer were obvious. "I need answers, princling."

"You don't look like an Easterling," Legolas remarked, watching her calculatingly. Her pale, almost white skin contrasted sharply with the olive toned skin of the dark-haired Easterlings. Even the features of her face differed enormously from the typical features of the Easterling race.

She smiled icily at him, but ignored his comment completely. "Your friends, or at least your warrior, can supply us with the answers we need."

"Answers to what?" Legolas persisted adamantly. "Where are the others?"

"Answers about the fortifications of Mirkwood of course," she said, still highly amused. "And the others…" she shrugged uncaringly, "They died."

Caught off guard, Legolas stiffened at her answer. "What do you need that for?" his voice had sunk to a whisper at the thought of the dead Elves that he had smiled at or said high to weeks ago before they had left.

"You and your people stand in my way, and my people's way," she answered calmly, obviously becoming bored with the conversation.

"Then why do you still need me if you have my friend and you are so sure you can make him divulge even the most insignificant detail to you?" Legolas questioned suspiciously, growling in his throat.

Her lips pulled back in a flashy smile that revealed her perfect teeth. "You are insurance…and if loose you would be a liability. And if my plan succeeds…every queen needs a slave." Turning to Ulrad, her smile broadened. He was itching to get his hands around the Wood-Elf's scrawny neck, she could tell. Legolas had caused him a lot of trouble.

Understanding her smile to be the signal, Ulrad moved towards Legolas, molding his hands into fists.

Legolas looked around him, glaring directly at Aüla's back as she sauntered from the room. Sador would be missing her. "You aren't an Easterling," he accused angrily, waiting to gauge her reaction.

She just grinned over her shoulder, leaving Legolas to wonder for a couple seconds before Ulrad's fist struck the side of his face.

**TBC...MUHAHAHAHAHAHA! How's that for a twist? LOL! Oh and what's that? I think I detected a cliffie in there somewhere! **

**Thanks for all the reviews for chapter 3! They were very much appreciated! We promise we will respond to them but we are going to have to wait for a brief lull in our sechedule (which means you should get responses tomorrow). Once again, this has become a reoccurance with review-responses and we are very, very sorry. **

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	5. Just for Starters

_Dementia_

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Just for Starters

Fear knifed through Roth's heart as the cell door scraped open and his human abductors filed in. He blinked rapidly as he tried to adjust to the sudden abundance of light. Unferth entered into the room and stood, splitting his amused gaze between Roth and Aragorn. Then, he stared singularly at Roth and his face split with a broad grin. "I told you –I warned you Elf! Once time was on my side I would teach you a lesson…well it just so happens that right now I have all the time in the world."

Roth's heart lurched and his stomach immediately turned itself into a sickening knot. A nervous sweat moistened his palms as his fingers folded into his hands, their nails pinching his skin.

From the look on Unferth's satisfied face, Roth knew he looked like a frightened puppy, but he simply couldn't help himself. He wanted to look at Aragorn, but he didn't want the ranger to see the fear he knew was building in his eyes or how he had paled. Unferth waved his two companions forward. Merrily jingling the keys to Roth's manacles, he smiled at the Elf as he tossed them to one of the other humans.

The mortal clumsily caught them and fumbled for the right one as he clasped Roth's arm in an iron grip. Inserting the old, rusty key in the lock he had to really manipulate it in the tumblers to convince the manacle to open. This process was repeated on all of Roth's irons, but the Elf made no move to escape.

His arms were grasped in a vice-like grip and twisted behind his back to insure control over the Elf. Roth struggled at first, fighting the pain and their harsh grips but the fight was over before it began.

Aragorn feverishly watched as his friend was dragged forcefully out of the cell. Blinking hazily, he forced his voice to work, "be strong mellon nin!" Having remembered Roth's clumsy translating of Sindarin to Common, he wanted to be sure his friend got his message clearly this time. The only Elvish he had used was "mellon nin", which were the first Elvish words Roth was ever taught after his rescue and adoption into Legolas' family. Roth knew "my friend" by heart.

Roth turned his head and smiled encouragingly at the ranger before a fist connected with his face, whipping it to the side and forcing him to focus on what was in front of him. Unferth blocked Aragorn's view of the Elf and then with a sneer, he slammed the door shut.

Frightened for Roth the same as if Legolas had been dragged out by _those_ men, Aragorn drew his knees up to his chest and set his chin on them. His whole body ached, from the abuse he had already suffered and from his returning illness…the one they said was incurable. He, along with everyone else, had been more than happy to believe that the snake-bites he had received in Farlost had neutralized the poison, but that had really been a comforting weave of lies. Stress was the trigger, and he was sure that his limited body was already over-taxed.

Aragorn cringed as he heard a singular cry of pain bounce of the walls, followed by loud, uproarious laughter that he found anything but appropriate. A thrill of liquid fire seemed to surge through his veins before becoming squeezed in his thrumming heart, searing the flesh. Hugging himself until the pain ebbed away; he wondered what they had done to Roth to make him scream like that. The Elf may not have Legolas' tenacity or all of his bravery but he could be as close-mouthed as an uptight oyster.

:0Ї0:

Roth cringed as he felt the new manacles snap tightly around his wrists, securing him to another wall. Using his feet, he tried to ward off the men as they worked to get his feet secured. One of them took a brutal kick to his face while another was forced back by a boot slamming into his abdomen.

No longer amused, Unferth wrapped his fingers around Roth's throat, deftly avoiding his kicking feet. Pressing his thumb into his captive's windpipe, he effectively starved Roth for air. Gradually Roth's body was forced to submit and his feet stopped kicking as his lips started to tinge with blue and yellow dots danced before his eyes.

Unferth's comrades quickly chained his feet, making sure they were useless as far as defense went. Before Roth passed out or actually suffocated, Unferth's hand relinquished his hold on his neck.

Roth's reaction was involuntary and instantaneous. His lungs spasmed and he gulped air hungrily, unable to get enough in one intake. His hands clenched and unclenched intermittently.

Unferth went over to a dark corner and illuminated it, lighting a series of torches on the wall. Their light reflected orange and glittered on the various knives, and other metal instruments of torture spread out with great care on the long table.

Unferth took great care in selecting the perfect knife –simply for cutting away Roth's tunic. He was going to enjoy this, and every time that Elf screamed it would be because he wanted him to. Staring up at Roth casually he watched as the Elf struggled, pulling at the manacles and generally making a nuisance of himself as he clanged the links around. Smiling evilly, Unferth calmly sharpened the chosen knife, chuckling to himself.

"If you are going to continue making this unpleasant then I can always drag your ranger friend in here. How about that?"

Roth ceased his obnoxious struggling, relaxing against his bonds. He signed dejectedly, "no." Aragorn needed his rest, he was already exceeding his limits and Roth feared that his illness was getting worse despite everything that he had attempted.

"Good, because you are my focus this morning," Unferth said, laying down the sharpening device as he sauntered over to Roth, allowing the knife to twirl leisurely in his fingers.

Roth wanted to tear his eyes away from the sadistically delighted human and his shiny, little knife but something held his attention transfixed to Unferth's movements. He was unable to so much as blink for fear he would miss something and he only noticed that he had stopped breathing when the familiar yellow-spots returned.

He involuntarily drew his breath just as Unferth used his knife to sever the silver, ornately carved buttons on his tunic, revealing his thin under tunic that shimmered a light sage color beneath the flaps of opened tunic. Bringing his knife down the middle of the thinner, suppler fabric, Unferth exposed Roth's lean, slightly muscled torso.

"Afraid?" the human used the single word as a taunt, meant to bite and bite hard.

Roth knew that this was one of those singular cases where honestly was not beneficiary. "No," he said, shaking his head. He winced as he discovered the hollow, frightened ring that resonated in his answer.

Unferth laughed, standing back a little to relish the Elf's struggling reaction. Roth's breathing had accelerated and his fingers were curled against his palms as he visibly wrestled with his trembling body. "So helpless," the Easterling mused, allowing his words to throw the first painful blows. "So alone…forsaken…little unimportant warrior," he grabbed Roth's chin as the Elf tried to look away.

Roth's bruised face was obscured by his long, dark hair, which had pulled loose of his braids during their travels and his manhandling. Unferth's thick fingers pushed the bedraggled locks of hair back, revealing Roth's churning hazel eyes, forcing the Elf to meet his gaze.

Roth recoiled sharply, his skull connecting painfully against the stone at his back. Spots leapt in his vision and his head swam sickeningly, making him nauseous.

Unferth seemed displeased and there was a sharp, more than audible _crack_ as his hand swept across Roth's face, whipping the Elf's head to the side.

Rothinzil winced as he tasted blood and his lip stung as he involuntarily sucked it. "St-stop toying with me!" he snapped, finding the strength to be aggressive. If Unferth was going to do something –which was very promising –then he would prefer to face it now.

"Oh, but that's the fun part! The rest of it ends too soon," Unerth purred, watching Roth squirm against the wall. The Elf stopped sucking his bleeding lip and allowed the crimson liquid to trace down his chin. The thought of drinking his own blood sickened him.

Unferth laughed and then asked with a wave of his hand, "do you think anyone will even come for you, Elf? A warrior who fails his duty? Why would anyone rescue a failure, hm?" He chuckled derisively, wiping the blood away from Roth's lip.

Roth didn't move. It was what you were taught to do when confronting a feral animal: hold still. Unferth was, figuratively speaking, a feral animal.

"They won't come for _you_. They are probably glad to be rid of you." He smiled coldly and then shook his head. "Their only regret is that you might spill their secrets."

"I will never tell you a thing," Roth affirmed, tightening his mouth angrily.

"Oh yes you will…because we just made a new toy…" he said happily. "And I know that there are some who can't wait to test it out."

Finally, Unferth became bored with making Roth merely squirm; he was going to make that Elf scream…again. Sensing this, Roth steeled himself, his muscles tensing in anticipation of something horrific.

"You seemed to enjoy being able to wield a bow earlier," Unferth reminisced almost angrily. He didn't recall the exact number but they had buried a lot of dead the day they had captured this creature. He turned his back on the Elf; walking back to the table to return the knife he had used the open the Elf's tunic. There was a change in plans. "What if you weren't able to do that?" he asked calmly, as though everything was very hypothetical.

Roth didn't answer. He had already discovered that he was a horrible liar. Claiming that it would make no difference was not a believable answer.

"I imagine it would make you very upset."

_You have no idea_. He curled his fingers tighter against his palms as the object Unferth was holding became all too visible. It was obviously meant for breaking fingers, and had a circular hole for the appendage to be caught in before being snapped.

Seeing an introduction to the device was not needed, Unferth wasted no time. Grabbing Roth's drawback-hand, he forced the fingers open and fanned them before selecting one to break. Taking Roth's forefinger, he wedged it in the device, locking it in the circular sort of opening.

Roth's face crumpled into a tight, expecting grimace even before he felt the finger bend…

:0Ї0:

Aragorn flinched, curling into himself and burying his head as an agonized, obviously muffled scream ricocheted off the cold walls. Valar! What was he doing to Roth? The possibilities were endless, but whatever it was, it was obviously effective and severe. Another scream, louder, but with less strength than the first shattered the air, making the ranger press his forehead against his knees in frustration. He didn't want to hear anymore…_please no more_.

The liquid fire that had been revived in his veins spread, consuming him and giving him his own piece of hellish pain. His muscles trembled from it, severely affected and sweat must have been seeping from every available pore.

Strangely, though he would never wish Legolas to be in a place even remotely like this one, he wished his friend were here. He missed his friend dearly and the worst part was that he didn't even know for certain what fate the prince had met, or if Legolas had met it willingly or taken it fighting. He liked to think that Legolas had taken it fighting.

:0Ї0:

Roth's face was white –sickly white. His lips were colorless and pressed together, trying to suppress another scream. One hand was curled so tightly that the knuckles glowed white, the other was spasming and attempting to curl in just as tightly, but two of the fingers weren't responding well…they couldn't. They were broken.

The Elf's chest heaved as he started gulping air, reacting involuntarily to the agony flaring through his hand and arm.

"Well now that I have your attention…" Unferth mocked, smiling delightedly as Roth's spasmodic gasps echoed off the stone walls. "Come now, only three more fingers…."

The Elf looked away and the muscles in his jaw bunched together, tightening. _You can beg…it's alright. –No! Never!_ His breaking body was arguing with his mind. He had known many types of pain, but this was bewildering. Just two fingers and already he was considering begging!

"Well, maybe I should save those for later…after all, I have to leave you with something to dread, although, it isn't like you don't have enough already," he mused openly, thoroughly enjoying himself. Suddenly he frowned and his eyes hardened, staring sternly at the Elf. "Did you learn your lesson, hm?"

Roth squared his jaw defiantly, forcing some of the pained glaze from his eyes. His fingers were still throbbing and he could feel them starting to swell. Blood was thrumming in his ears and he could feel his body trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline.

"Don't. Mess. With. Me." Unferth's warning was lethal, with emphases put into every word and every syllable. "Or else," he stepped demonstratively aside, revealing the various instruments, "I can find ways to insure your compliance. Do you understand?"

Roth didn't answer, not trusting his voice. Unferth's hand shot out, backhanding him across his face, causing Roth to hiss at the unexpected pain. "I said _do you understand_!" He snarled, his fingers tangling in Roth's long, dark hair.

Roth wanted to say yes with every ounce of his being, but he couldn't believe that Legolas would stoop so low as to admit compliance with the enemy. He wanted to be like Legolas. "I will never…do your will or submit myself to your expectations," he hissed, finding the strength to remain aggravatingly calm, deliberately getting under Unferth's skin.

The man craned Roth's neck back so that the slightest bit more pressure would break it. Putting his face skin to skin with the Elf's he hissed impatiently, "You had your chance. You can beg all you want later, but nothing is going to change, nothing at all. And if you annoy me too much," he pulled a rag from his pocket, "I'll gag you."

:0Ї0:

Legolas blinked hazily, trying to pull himself together. However, his body was being very unresponsive and uncooperative. Closing his eyes again, the Elf tried to mentally assess his injuries since moving was obviously out of the question.

Everything hurt. Ulrad had worked the prince hard with his fists and Legolas had been conscious for most of it, although the few minutes before he lost consciousness were hazy at best. Breathing alone informed Legolas of his ribs' critical condition. The ones that weren't broken were at the least cracked. Something was dribbling down his forehead and temple and he knew it was blood. Ulrad had hit him hard enough to smash the side of his head against the wall at least once, though it could have happened more. Legolas didn't know, he had lost count after the first impact.

Licking his stinging mouth he found his lip to be re-broken and caked with dried blood.

Legolas groaned softly, deciding that he didn't want to discover the rest of his numerous injuries. They always seemed to hurt worse once you found them and then you couldn't stop thinking about them and he definitely had enough to think about right now. Forcing his muscles and aching joints to fulfill his commands, the prince grudgingly raised himself into a sitting position.

Instantly he regretted the decision and held as still as possible, trying to pacify his swirling head. He was an Elf and often didn't experience what it was like to be off balance, but when he did it was enough to create a sense of nausea, especially after being pummeled for a couple of hours.

Sighing, he dragged himself to a corner of the room, inch by inch, feeling his way through the dark. It felt safer in the corner and he put his back against it, drawing his knees up to his chin and resting his head on them. His loose, gold hair cascaded around his shoulders and face, tangled and unkempt. Snorting his frustration through his nose in a rush of air, he glowered at his surroundings.

Fighting the despair climbing inside of him, Legolas reminded himself that there was a way out of here –just the darkness made it frustratingly hard to find it.

Aching too much to be fully coherent, the Elf mourned the loss of his friends. Poor Roth. He wondered if his friend would ever see his child take its first steps. What frightened him even more was Roth's gentle nature. What if the wickedness of these men changed his friend? Valar! What was Roth being put through?

What was Aragorn being put through? They didn't need the ranger, Legolas realized and he pulled his knees closer to his chest, frightened.

When he was being beaten with Ulrad's fists, he could vaguely remember a few of the man's threats and taunts. He had mentioned something about a machine…the rack, maybe? Some wicked contraption that he claimed would even break an Elf, dismembering his joints and stretching organs –more or less tearing the internal structure of the body apart.

He said that one of the captured Elves had died on it, although Legolas imagined that he had suffered other cruelties –like starvation coupled with dehydration and probably more routine methods of torment. This hurt Legolas even more and he buried his head against his forearms as though trying to rub out the memories and painful thoughts.

He had to escape, he had to find them. There were a lot of things Legolas was scared of, if he were honest, but telling a pregnant Helluin that Roth was not coming home was something that made him sick. By the same token he couldn't return to Aragorn's family and say that the man was never coming back. The look in their eyes would break his heart –it would _kill_ him.

It wasn't long before the door groaned and a shard of light pierced the night of the room. Legolas raised his head, noting the placement of the door for further reference and blinking as the shard became a stream and the room was illuminated. He would have thought that Ulrad would have left him alone for a bit, because after all he was no more than insurance…they were not the ones doing to interrogating. Unfortunately, it seemed that necessary or not, he was in for more trouble.

As his eyes adjusted, he amended his mental assessment. Ulrad was no where or be seen -or Aüla. The figure cautiously descending the stairs was carrying a tray and doing his best not to loose his footing. Every now and then Legolas heard a muffled curse or two or a small exclamation followed by a hissed, "confound these robes!"

Intrigued almost against his will, the prince continued watching, slightly amused as the newcomer's clumsiness reminded him of Rothinzil. The memory teased his already aching heart so he shoved it aside, forcing himself to go numb.

"Your Highness?" the figure ventured uncertainly, fumbling his way over. He was trying to seem mollifying, at least to some degree.

Impressed, but unwilling to display it, Legolas merely cocked his head to the side. His eyes clouded dangerously. His aching, weary heart trusted no one, least of all someone trying to be _nice_. It might have seemed reversed, but he was beginning to find that nice people in dark, dangerous places were hardly trustworthy. "What do you want?" Legolas forced a reasonable tone from his justifiably rankled mood.

The man stopped, obviously wondering if the Elf was a threat when he realized the prince was not restrained. "So Aüla didn't lie when she said she had the prince of Mirkwood." He shook his head disbelievingly.

Legolas snorted softly. He wished she had, if even by accident. "You must be Master Sador," he presumed suspiciously, observing his venerable robes and carriage somewhat disgustedly.

"Yes," he nodded almost sadly. "Although I am not sure that I deserve it."

Legolas almost arched his brows in surprise at the admittance but caught himself just in time. _No jesting there…_

"Ah, well anyway," Sador said, clearly uneasy, "I thought you might be hungry." He demonstratively raised the tray an inch higher.

Legolas shook his head. "No, thank you."

"You aren't going to last long without decent food," Sador prompted, coming closer, believing Legolas had very little interest in harming him at the moment.

Legolas glared defensively. "Does your wife know you are doing this?" he growled, pressing back further into his corner.

Sador paused and then lowered his voice, smiling conspiratorially. "No idea."

Caught off guard, Legolas tilted his head. "Excuse me?"

"She wants you to weaken…to become easy to control…"

"Oh, like you, I see," Legolas muttered derisively, allowing the comment to give the designed bite. He closed his eyes and resumed resting his chin on his knees. "And what have you come down to my level for, human? Are you fighting for my favor? You and your wife?" Legolas' suspicion was giving his voice a razor edge that cut swiftly.

"If anything I climbed a level when I came to speak with you," the man returned, his voice clipped in frustration. "It isn't often you can talk with an Elven prince, now is it?"

This surprised Legolas and he broke his suspicious tirade, sounding slightly apologetic. "So why did you come? Feeding me is a kind gesture but hardly helpful in the long run," he mumbled, wincing around his headache. "I would have expected someone of your esteemed stature to know this."

Sador smiled, setting the tray suggestively by the Elf. "Eat up."

Becoming frustrated, Legolas glared. He did not have the patience for this. "How about we try this: you tell me the real reason behind your clandestine visit, and I will consider taking a bite of something."

Fair was fair and Sador sat down beside the Elf, wracking his mind for a suitable opening remark that would lead into all he had to say. The prince's impatient glower was darkening, he noticed with some apprehension. "It's a long story…"

Legolas quirked a brow, as though saying, _"Does it look like I am going anywhere?"_

Sador took his point and shrugged. "Aüla isn't herself." He shook his head. "She didn't used to be this way…she makes up these strange stories…I don't know where she gets them. She says she lived many years ago when her people were attacked and scattered…the Easterling people I mean…she says they are her people. This is impossible. I have known her since she and I were little."

Legolas had been prepared to take all of his words with a grain of salt but this had caught his attention. Intrigued, he bent his attention on the man's every word.

Appreciating such a good listener, Sador smiled slightly to himself and continued. "She was always really sweet…different from other girls -and eventually women. We fell in love and married, and I was elected to be the Master of Laketown…and then she started telling me these wild stories…and just acting differently. She won't even look at me anymore. I…I don't know what is happening."

"What stories does she tell?" Legolas wasn't sure that he really wanted to know, but he had a feeling it was information that he didn't want to be excluded.

Sador frowned, not enjoying the recollection. "Have you heard of the Balchoths?" he asked quietly, obviously trying to remember the name. No matter how many times he heard it, the pronunciation and spelling always seemed a burden to remember.

Legolas thought a moment. "Briefly…once I think. Aren't they all supposed to be dead? Or at least scattered?" He had thought his father had mentioned the name before, but he wasn't sure. If he had it would have been a long, long time ago…very long ago.

Sador seemed pleased that at least he didn't have to explain everything, even if he still seemed a bit nervous. "They were scattered, but it appears they are regrouping under Sauron's jurisdiction."

Legolas snorted inwardly. That much figured. The Easterlings and Sauron –or well, Morgorth at some points, had possessed close ties for a long time…longer than the Elves liked to remember.

"…But apparently they don't like that…they want to preside over their own actions. They don't want to pay tribute to him anymore." Sador frowned. "That would all be well and good if that were their only motives…but they want to rebuild their empire, they want us, they want you...they want the world."

"Revenge," Legolas affirmed bitterly. And Rothinzil and Aragorn were trapped in the thick of it. "Does the Necromancer know this?"

Sador tilted his head, thinking. "I am not sure…Aüla never tells me, but one would think."

Morbid silence thickened in the air, and through some unexplained phenomenon everything seemed to get darker.

"Can your friends hold?" Sador's voice called Legolas back to the present. "Can they keep Mirkwood's secrets?"

"I trust them," Legolas confirmed, allowing his tone to carry a defensive, biting edge. He knew that both of them would keep Mirkwood's secrets if they had to die first, but he hated to think what the price for their incompliance would be.

"The others died without speaking," Sador informed, making sure to keep a respectful tone. He had known Rothinzil quite a while and had always rather liked the Elf. Unlike a lot of Elves, Roth had a natural inclination to enjoy the company of humans if they were reasonable. Sometimes, he would share with the Elf about Aüla, when she first starting going mad and Rothinzil had never once been judgmental. He had simply listened and done his best to understand. But he had never understood and he was paying for it now. "If I let you out, do you think that you can break them out?"

"They are my friends! Do you think that I wouldn't try my hardest?" Legolas growled, chaffing at their predicament and his own impeding circumstances.

Sador nodded agreeably, eagerly. "Alright. Then I am going to help you out."

"You know you will be dead after this, right?" Legolas asked softly, finally understanding the gravity of the situation a little better.

Sador's tired, accepting sigh and drooping eyes spoke volumes about the condition of his relationship with Aüla right now. He wasn't the type of man to abandon his wife simply because she was mentally ill and right now he was beginning to feel like a traitor. He had been committing wrong for so long that doing right felt evil. "I know. But I have been following her deceitful lead too long. I want a clear conscience, Prince Legolas."

Legolas smiled warmly. "I hope you find one."

Standing was a slow process for the bruised, aching, and bloodied Elf, but Legolas managed a bit quicker than one would expect. He had to lean against the wall for a minute until the room stopped spinning, his breathing evened out, and the pain subsided. This much movement had caused a cold sweat to dampen his glowing skin, and his green tunic stuck to his skin and wounds.

"You aren't a traitor Master Sador," the Elf assured, partially because he was afraid that Sador would bale out of his promise and partially because it was the truth. "She isn't herself. You aren't betraying her, you are betraying whatever has taken her."

He nodded absently, obviously wanting to believe the Elf. "Can you walk far on your own?" he asked, visibly wrestling with doubt.

Legolas smiled wryly, but the rest of his black-and-blue countenance was completely grave and serious. "Hopefully. What about Ulrad?" Legolas was sure that the skulking Easterling was waiting for another opportunity to vent on him with his fists. He meaningfully sucked on his lower lip, causing the blood to start running anew. In his present condition he would have no means to truly defend himself, his only hope lay in beating a hasty retreat.

Sador's face visibly darkened and anger flashed in his eyes. "Oh I will take care of him, no worries your Highness."

Legolas just nodded, not arguing but deep inside he knew that Ulrad was probably expecting some eventual retribution on Sador's part. He had seen how Ulrad had been all over Aüla earlier and the conversation in the tavern had blatantly told him as much. Sador couldn't possibly be happy with that.

**TBC...Muahahaha...okay maybe the cliffy was not so bad this time...BUT there was lots of angst...and you found out some more about Sador and his dear wife. So there. It sorta balanced out! LOL **

**Thanks for all the reviews for chapter four! We LOVE you guys! You are all so helpful and nice! You should be getting the responses momentarily. We hope to hear from you guys again so please review! Thanks!**


	6. Hrethel and Hugin: Famous Monsters

_Dementia_

**CHAPTER SIX**

Hrethel and Hugin: Famous Monsters 

Aragorn's head shot up the instant the key was thrust in the rusty lock and the door started to edge open. He couldn't hear Rothinzil's voice and immediately his already racing heart sped up a pace. The Elf had stopped screaming about an hour ago and he was worried that they might have gone too far with his friend.

The men entered, parting as Unferth walked between them, thrusting what was left of Roth in front of him. The Elf was shirtless and his tangled, midnight hair screened his face from view. However, Aragorn couldn't help but notice that with every breath he took a violent shudder wracked his body, threatening to collapse his knees. "Hey, Strider," he rasped emotionlessly, exhausted but making an effort to hide it.

Unferth pitched him forward, and Roth stumbled up against the wall, groaning as his wounds became agitated and dark, uneven blotches checkered his vision. He tasted a trace of blood in his mouth and a new thrill of fear ran through him. Knowing that Unferth wanted to put him back in his manacles and would throw him to the floor if he didn't sit down himself, Roth slid down the wall.

Purposefully slapping his broken hand against the wall, the Easterling captain snapped the metal restraints around the thin wrists of the Elf. A satisfied smile pulled at his lips as Roth hissed and arched slightly against the pain. Restraining his other hand, Unferth spoke volumes about the Elf's state when he left Roth's feet unchained.

Tracing some blood that had dried in a small trickle down Roth's chin, he smiled. "Maybe next time you won't be so stubborn, eh Elf?" Roth just turned his face away.

Taking his leave, Unferth stood up and motioned the men out.

The cell door slammed shut and the key twisted in the lock before being removed.

They were left alone.

"Roth…"

"Please…I don't want to talk…" He begged softly, making sure not to meet Aragorn's eyes. There was a wet rattle to his voice and he coughed, trying to curl in on himself.

"We don't have to talk about it then," Aragorn assured soothingly, pushing his own miseries aside in an attempt to quiet down the nearly hysterical Elf. It was obvious that Roth had taken some serious harm from Unferth and his screams were definitely not for nothing. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked cautiously.

Roth drew his knees up as close as he could against his body, obviously wishing he could hug himself. "Not unless you can end pain," the Elf murmured, gradually calming as he heard Aragorn's voice and felt his friend's presence. There was less light in the cell now since his natural glow was slowly dimming, but the presence of a friend had the same effect as light and the Elf felt a little safer.

"Legolas would be proud of you," Aragorn assured, forcing himself to remain calm. Roth smiled brokenly at the thought, but it was enough to encourage the ranger. "You are a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, Roth." They might try to tear his friend down while he was in their clutches, but Aragorn wasn't going to let the Elf tear himself down. And he wasn't lying. Everything he said was the truth.

Roth nodded wordlessly, not entirely believing Aragorn but grateful for the kind words nonetheless. Looking at the ranger, he swallowed before speaking. "You have to escape…what they have back there…their capabilities…you have to leave. I wouldn't be your friend…if I asked you to stay with me here."

Aragorn glared stubbornly. "And I wouldn't be _your_ friend if I left you here. And you never asked, I volunteered!"

Rothinzil coughed, and his chest tightened in an automatic effort to ease his pain. Bright red blood lined the corners of his mouth and he groaned, panting to try and catch his breath. "Stupid human…"

Aragorn paused in mid thought at the dark-haired Elf's words. Legolas was known to say "stupid human" in all seriousness, and Aragorn had long ago accepted that because no matter how hard Legolas tried it would sometimes slip out depending on the situation. However, Rothinzil wasn't so suspicious or doubtful of men…he had been raised by them and even married into them. To hear him say that spoke volumes about his condition and Aragorn's stomach clenched as he realized that the Elf was concealing a lot more of his pain than he had first suspected.

His thoughts darkened further when he realized that Roth was completely out of character. The Elf was usually very expressive and never shied about voicing just what he was feeling. The pain Roth was showing now was unavoidable but he was boxing up a lot of his feelings and concerns deep inside, keeping them his own. It was for protection, Aragorn realized. He couldn't afford to wear his heart on his sleeve, leaving it vulnerable to the agonies these people were inflicting.

"I am not going to hurt you Roth," Aragorn whispered reassuringly before he could stop himself.

The Elf blinked tiredly, apparently confused. "I know, Strider." His voice was clearer as his confusion momentarily made him forget his pain.

Aragorn sighed heavily, despite the pain that spiraled through his chest and the grief it caused his wounded arm. He had thought Rothinzil was deliberately concealing his most vulnerable emotions, but apparently everything was being directed by his subconscious. The warrior was subliminally reverting back to his younger years, when he had to make himself numb or die. "Do you really?" the ranger asked softly. When there was no response he gently prodded, "What did they do to you?"

Roth closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "You mean what did _he_ do to me?" Legolas had always told him that Aragorn was very persistent but he had never believed it until now. Ignoring his questions or arguing was a futile venture. Exhaling, the Elf admitted, "I don't remember everything… it is all like one dark, inescapable blur…"

Afraid that he had pushed his friend to his emotional limits; Aragorn gave the Elf his space and remained silent. Rothinzil would tell him when he was ready.

Without warning, the Elf's clouded, hazel eyes fluttered open and he started speaking, startling Aragorn out of his thoughts. "There is…some sort of machine…" He jerked nervously, caught off guard when Aragorn suddenly stiffened. "Are you alright?" he asked, not at all perturbed by the interruption. He really didn't want to talk about this anyway.

Aragorn shook his head slightly, wincing as the movement spurred his headache and the darkness in the room seemed to grow at the corners of his sight. "I'll be fine," he lied.

A small smile parted Roth's lips. "Am I ex-xpected to believe…that?" His pain-lined, pale face was more than skeptical, and because it was Roth making the face it was nearly comical.

Aragorn glared, warding off the Elf's over-protective questions, and wishing he had actually admitted to taking more grievous hurt. Rothinzil had a tendency to be less motherly if he felt that Aragorn had divulged all of the wounds. The Elf was going to make a great father -that was for certain. "Don't worry about me…what happened to you?" Aragorn persisted, drawing the attention from himself.

"You wouldn't believe me…if I found words to t-tell you." Roth's cracked whisper was nearly inaudible and Aragorn saw the Elf's frame shudder.

:0Ї0:

"So the Elf is resilient you say?" Ulfang questioned, critically eyeing Unferth around the cloth that shrouded his face almost completely. His eyes you could see, and his mouth, but the rest of his features were completely concealed behind swaths of black cloth. A robe of the same material, elegant in its own fashion, covered the rest of his body and his hands were gloved in matching gloves.

"He isn't going to break easily, your highness," Unferth replied tiredly, really wishing that this conversation was not necessary. Ulfang was not a man to be trifled with, despite his debilitating state. There were others that would gladly act on his behalf.

The aforementioned liege sat in his large chair, unmoving, thinking. Since he had been cursed with this disease the theory of brains over brawn had been forced onto him, and he had quickly discovered its usefulness. "What do you know of his family? Are there those he would dearly miss should they, let us say, died?"

Unferth was silent, considering his answer carefully. "I know he has family…who they are or where they are I have no idea. The captured ranger seems to be close with him…good friends I suppose…"

A small _hmph_ could be heard as Ulfang chuckled behind his hood. "Save me your rambling, captain. His family shall be found out soon enough." Some men, inconspicuously shadowed in the corners, shifted uneasily. "So the ranger and the Elf are close?" Ulfang continued.

Unferth nodded. "So it appears to my eyes."

Ulfang chuckled softly to himself. "Renowned Elven loyalty."

"We tried using friends against each other once, my lord, it didn't work!" The Easterling warrior's protest echoed off the cold stone walls and he stood up from his chair in his excitement.

Ulfang smiled dryly behind his hood. "Those were Elves and Elves, both had cause to defend their homeland. This is an Elf and a ranger…the ranger has no attachments to the Elf's home. But he has attachments to the Elf. To save the Elf he may be willing to tell us what his friend hasn't. And if not, he can always have a taste of what our dear, immortal guest is experiencing."

Unferth knew better than to argue and his mouth closed with an audible snap. However, his darkened, stormy eyes spoke more than words could have and it was more than obvious that he was seething.

Shrugging inwardly, Ulfang paid his subordinate no mind. Waving his hand lazily, he signaled over the two men from their corners. They obediently stepped forward, having forgotten what it was like to disobey long ago. To make sure they had nothing to worry about any longer, Ulfang had sent warriors to murder their family and make sure that their soul purpose for life would be to serve him. Now they worked with compassionless diligence, murdering other families. Their village had long ago discontinued welcoming them and now they were permanent residents of Ulfang's household and ardent believers in his regime.

"Hrethel, Hugin," Ulfang addressed them individually. "I want you to go to this Lake-town, and I want you to find this Elf's home…I want his family monitored at all times."

Hrethel, the older of the two, raised his head from where it had been bowed. His grey and all but lifeless eyes respectfully returned his lord's demanding stare. "Supposing he is still in the vicinity, should we make contact with Ulrad, my lord?"

Ulfang's smile brightened, though the black shrouds prevented the brothers from seeing it. "Give him my complements -and then kill him."

Hugin and Hrethel exchanged almost delighted smiles. Their lord had been in a cheery mood lately, which had been to their disappointment since it depleted their opportunities for assignments. However, now it seemed like his amiability was running thin and that he was going to be less forgiving in the future. They themselves had nothing to fear of course, unless they failed an assignment, in which case both knew better than to return.

"Ulrad is a liability that we cannot allow," Ulfang explained with cold carelessness. "He should have returned with you, Unferth." The young king addressed his captain. "Obviously he has better things to do than follow my orders."

"Obviously." Unferth agreed smugly, not even trying to hide his scorn.

Hugin and Hrethel glared at him, their faces almost identical, and Hugin even rolled his eyes. Unferth wasn't so high up on Ulfang's list of favorite himself, although he was nearing the top of their list of enemies.

Hrethel leaned into his brother, muttering, "Don't give that bumbling idiot so much attention. It's all he wants: attention." Hugin nodded, shrugging compliantly. Talented in both archery and swordsmanship, the pair never had to struggle to get to the top and it was easy for them to scorn people like Unferth. And Unferth's thick-skulled, and often insanely cruel behavior made it even easier, so it was almost satisfying.

Unferth growled in his throat, knowing better than to openly chastise them before his lord. However, he felt his face growing hot and his hands molded into fists.

Ulfang observed this all with long practiced and long suffering calm, his hands folded on his lap. However, his patience did have limits. "Hrethel, Hugin, why do I still see you!" he suddenly snapped, standing so fast that he swayed and leaned on the arm of his ornate wooden chair.

The two flinched slightly at their lord's question, bowing their heads in answer. Slinking through the door, they ducked quietly through it.

Once beyond the doors and safely out of hearing distance, Hugin glared over his shoulder at the oak doors they had just exited through. His fair, tanned countenance was bitter and his eyes had acquired a malicious sparkle. "I can't wait until the day Unferth isn't needed anymore…"

Hrethel frowned, sharing his brother's opinion without too much thought. "I'm counting the hours." He then deepened his frown and shook his head, amending his statement. "I take that back: I am counting the seconds."

Hugin smiled and he took the lead, bringing them down the stone corridor and into the open air of the dirt court-yard. Crippled or dead trees littered the old orchard within, but they hardly noticed. This was natural for where they lived. A green, healthy flowering plant might have caught their attention.

"It's almost a shame."

Hrethel paused in the center of the court-yard and stared at Hugin, perturbed by his brother's comment, which had obviously been heartfelt. Inclining his head, he silently asked for an explanation.

"Killing Ulrad." Hugin's voice was deliberately low and unobtrusive. Questioning Ulfang or expressing sympathy for Ulfang's enemies on palace grounds could get you killed or worse –depending on what you said or did. Of course, since he had been on the delivering side of such consequences he understood this better than most people and knew that he was not above it.

Hrethel raised a black brow incredulously, tempted to believe that he was losing his hearing. "I was under the impression your conscience had died with your first victim."

"My fifth actually," Hugin responded testily. "But some things are impossible to kill forever." His voice revealed some of his uncertainty and a bit of guilt.

Hrethel shook his head, whistling regretfully. "You have been cooped up a bit too long, brother."

Hugin rolled his eyes, but conceded. "You are probably right."

"I _know_ I am right," Hrethel muttered darkly, resuming his walk towards the stables, making up his mind not to stop again. Tall, with a long build, his legs easily carried him to its doors within a few minutes.

Hugin bounded up to his side and opened one of the huge wooden doors, mildly annoyed when it creaked in dissent. Splinters flaked off into his hand from the decaying handle and he looked at them amusedly before wiping them on his leggings and continuing beyond the doors. "This place is going straight to the Necromancer in a hand basket," he muttered cynically over his shoulder.

Hearing his voice, a few horses nickered softly from the shadows of their stalls. Daylight splintered through cracks in the wood as fragments of white and gold, illuminating the dust floating in the air, and providing enough light to safely saddle and pack a horse by.

:0Ї0:

Sador was a genius –an unfortunate genius, but a genius nonetheless, Legolas decided inwardly after running through the man's plan a couple times over in his head. His hand cradled his broken ribs as he tried to ease his sporadic, pained breathing. Of course, Legolas had to admit that because of his position Sador didn't have to do much to distract anyone Aüla had assigned to guard the makeshift prison. If he would have stared at a spot long enough on a wall, everyone would want to see it and soon become enamored of the said spot.

Legolas doubted that was what had happened, but he would never know so he didn't dwell on it. The important thing was that he was no longer confined to that poor excuse for a cell. He wasn't even in the vicinity of the house any longer. Sitting down on the ground as his battered body begged for a rest, the Elf used this lull to take in his surroundings and give himself a once over for any missed injuries.

The first thing he noticed was that he was completely concealed by plants, which was a bit strange considering that Lake Town was on wood and unable to have the sort of gardens that were planted directly into the ground. They were in pots and they were numerous. There was no symmetry or design to their arrangement either, he noticed, reflecting on how all of them seemed to possess their own various shape and size. Most of them had large blossoming flowers that were thriving in the balmy heat of the summer. Some of the blooms even had the ability to close themselves at night, though they didn't die.

So Aüla liked flowers, or perhaps, Sador did. The woman just didn't strike Legolas as the flower-adoring kind. She seemed to bend her concentration to bigger things than merely mastering a small garden. She seemed to like the idea of mastering the world, or at least his part of it.

Discovering all that he cared to know about his environment, the Elf turned his attention back to himself. He was a mess, covered in his own blood coupled with severe, colorful bruising around his ribs and abdomen. His hair, he was sure, resembled something akin to a soiled, golden mop. His breathing was beginning to even out, but the filling and emptying of his lungs, no matter how shallow, continued to plague his ribs with shoots of rippling agony.

Leaning back against one of the taller, sturdier pots, he the Elf struggled with his pain. He had a sinking suspicion that more than ribs were broken inside. Every now and then a trace of blood found its way into his mouth, lining it with a coppery tang that Legolas would promptly spit out, rather than swallow. Red showed between his otherwise flawless teeth.

Footsteps pulled him out of his almost restful haze. As his senses started to spike with the feed of adrenaline into his system, so did his pain. Spots shifted in and out of his vision and he blinked rapidly, dispelling them. When his vision finally focused, the form of a man filled it and the Elf recoiled back against the potted plant, startled.

Fate must have been laughing at him. He was sure that he could hear it.

"Looking for something?" He asked, forcing his voice not to crack. Although he wasn't truly scared, his body easily equated the man's face with pain and he cringed inwardly.

Ulrad only smiled, and then nodded. "Yes, an Elf actually. Blonde hair…tall…you haven't seen him have you?"

Feigning all seriousness, Legolas shook his head. "Sorry. Does he know you are looking for him?"

"Would he be hiding in the garden if he did not?" Apparently Ulrad was not in a cheery, playful sort of mood. The Easterling was like a cat: he enjoyed playing with his mice until he thought they were going to get away, and then he closed his jaws.

"Most likely not," Legolas answered, starting to pull himself to his feet, bracing himself on the rim of the pot. He winced as he recognized the metallic ring of Ulrad's sword being unsheathed. Something deep inside screamed: NOT GOOD! And he found himself agreeing wholeheartedly. "You wouldn't kill an unarmed-"

"Elf?" Ulrad finished, smiling in a way that somehow didn't convince Legolas that he was truly pleased in any fashion. "Of course not, it would be too boring." He reached into his boot and drew a lengthy dagger, tossing it lazily at the Elf so that it clattered at Legolas' feet. "Come, Elfling, make this interesting."

Legolas glowered first at Ulrad and then at the discarded weapon. He really was in no condition to be fighting at all. However, he was a warrior and he was not going to allow himself to die without putting up some sort of resistance.

"I will even give you a head start and keep my weapon lowered until you attack," Ulrad offered, waiting impatiently for Legolas to pick up the dagger and get this all over with.

"I doubt that offer was out of generosity," Legolas muttered, still glowering coldly, even as he bent down and curled his fingers around the dagger's hilt. It was thicker and the make of the blade was much more awkward than those of Elven make. The prince scoffed inwardly. "And I thought I was needed alive." The Elf's eyes turned to blue ice and the humid hot air of summer seemed to chill around them.

Ulrad just shrugged. "I do need you alive, but my Lady would rather that you were dead than free. So if you push me too much I am going to have to kill you. However, fortunately it seems you won't be too much of a problem."

"Oh you are going to be _unpleasantly_ surprised," Legolas retorted dryly, forcing himself to smile defiantly, as though he was having the most fun he had had in a long time. The blood showed between his teeth.

Ulrad noted the unhealthy coloring and his own smile grew. "Somehow I doubt it."

Legolas drew a deep breath, ignoring the agony that seemed to rip his ribs from his body and relocate them. It felt like bands of red hot iron were binding his lungs and slowly constricting. At least if he died he was going to die with conviction. Forcing himself to take a defensive stance and hold it for more than a couple seconds, the prince tightened his grip around the dagger's hilt. "You shouldn't have hurt my friends," he snarled, throwing himself at the human in a perfected lunge that had served him well in the past.

Ulrad deftly avoided the attack, although he was astonished that Legolas still had this much fight left in him. Using his sword, which was unfairly longer and heavier, he drove its point at Legolas' middle, planning to skewer him or at least give him a gash to remember.

Legolas stumbled free of the retorting blow, thanking the Valar for the miracle of keeping on his feet.

Ulrad was surprised when Legolas thrust the dagger at him again, this time at his back. He glowered at the Elf as he ducked the blow. "Stabbing at my back?"

Legolas growled in his throat. "You would have no problem stabbing mine." For a moment he realized how distressed he was when he came to the understanding that he was trying to reason with a villain. This was fight, not a dueling match, and that meant that any move was fair.

"No, I wouldn't," Ulrad agreed with a grin. "But unfortunately, I wouldn't get to see the pain on your face if I did that, now would I?" He swept his sword up in an arc, intending to bring it down hard against Legolas' sword arm and critically injure the Elf. He still intended to take Legolas alive.

Legolas avoided the blow but had no chance to give an attack of his own. His body was being slow to respond to any of his commands and he had enough experience in warfare to know that if he slowed down much more then he would be dead. Determination could only get him so far. He was sure that something had broken inside of him that was essential to life –or at least that essential something was damaged. Either way, his body wasn't working quite right.

Ulrad sensed this too and his confidence grew. This wasn't his first encounter with an Elf-warrior after all, and he knew that they were stronger than this. "Why don't you just give up?" he growled, swiping at Legolas with his sword again.

Legolas made a narrow escape of the blade before retorting, "You wouldn't understand." _WHERE is Sador? _It had been that man who had sworn up and down that Legolas wouldn't have to worry about Ulrad and yet here was Ulrad in the flesh trying to lay him open.

In his weakened state Legolas was quickly beginning to realize that the dagger –which was long, was still not enough to combat this mad-man's sword. He didn't possess the strength to wield it efficiently and the momentum of Ulrad's sword was greater regardless.

There were several things Legolas hated. Among the top three were: evil, pure Lembas bread, and backing down in a fight. Unfortunately, it seemed that two out of these three were either already transpiring or about to transpire. For the first time, Legolas thought that Lembas bread would have tasted great in exchange of one of his other top three hates.

Backing steadily away from Ulrad and his extended, blood-thirsty sword, Legolas desperately sought an escape. It wouldn't do if he won this battle, but was cut to pieces, and was unable to be of any help to his friends. There had to be an escape route somewhere.

Frustration mounting, the Elf took another step backward. His eyes desperately scanned his surroundings like a runaway horse searching for a break in the fence. Unfortunately he saw no break. He could duck behind the larger flower pots but the idea of hiding behind flowers just didn't make him feel any better, understandably.

Backpedaling some more, the Elf suddenly felt his heel sink into a weak spot on the boards, where termites or perhaps even the water sloshing under the floating town had decayed the wood into a decrepit state. Normally the almost weightless Elf would have never detected the weakened wood but with his wounds and weakened state his weightlessness was fading a little. He was sure that he could leave in impression in mud if he wanted to.

Ulrad paused his advances amused as the Elf suddenly slammed the heel of his foot into the wood beneath them. A splintering sound was heard and Legolas had to pull back in order to keep from having his leg encased by the small hole.

Now that more of it was broken, the wood was easily splintered further, creating a gap large enough for the thin frame of the agile Elf to slip through. He would be forced underwater by the wood above him, but Ulrad couldn't kill him there and eventually he could escape the water.

Not even pausing for farewells, Legolas closed his eyes and stepped into the nothingness he had created. For a few split seconds he felt free fall and his stomach lurched as his mind registered that there was no going back…he was falling. He could hear Ulrad screaming above him, cursing his name in multiple languages and then everything roared.

Water rushed up his nose and pressed into his ears and everything went completely dark. His clothes floated around his battered body and the cool –almost icy, wafting kiss of the water was a welcome reprieve to the heat of the darkening bruises.

Breaking the surface with a small splutter, Legolas listened above him to make sure Ulrad had not followed. Once he was sure the human was not in the mood for a swim, the Elf was able to take in his surroundings a little more closely. There was about a foot of air between the wood above his head and the water, leaving plenty of room for breathable air –or so the Elf estimated. It was dark and he couldn't see very much at all, but the fact that he could breathe made him feel more at ease.

He didn't know how far he was into the city so he couldn't really estimate how long it would take for him to reach open air and sky. But he was free and that was all that mattered.

As he ventured forward he briefly wondered how many had actually seen the underside of the city –if anyone, and if they had lived to tell the tale.

:0Ї0:

In the courtyard outside Ulfang's palace Hrethel and Hugin were mounting their horses and checking their weapons. Their long black cloaks draped about their thin frames giving them an eerie look as they rode past a lone monument –a lone tomb. The moonlight traced the letters of the encased being's name with a molten silver incandescence, nearly bringing them to life.

_Veoda –Ulfang's beloved sister. _

Hugin paused by the grave, observing the fine, ornate craftsman ship of the tomb. A young woman of smooth stone stood erect beside it, a sword flashing in her hand with its point heavenwards. The moonlight spiraled down the smooth sword of stone, illuminating it. Her cold stone eyes were lifeless, merely marble. "When did she die brother?"

"When she and King Ulfang were only sixteen and eighteen –and she was the elder." Hrethel's voice was grave, possibly concerned. "Hugin you _are_ in a rare mood tonight."

"Brother…our lord has been receiving letters from her. She couldn't have died…" It had been long since Hugin had sounded vulnerable or anything close to innocent, and so to hear the curiosity spiking in his voice bristled the hackles of his older brother.

Hrethel's stern glare forced Hugin to silence. "Well then this is a night for resurrections, isn't it? First your conscience and now apparently there are ghosts."

"But brother I saw the letter-"

Hrethel raised a hand, quieting his brother once more. "I know Hugin, so did I."

"Then why do you do-"

Hrethel shook his head. "Doubt? I don't. Don't you know the legend little brother?"

**TBC...dumdumdum...and the plot thickens. No seriously it does. LOL Yep, well these cliffies weren't so bad. And people who are craving Aragorn-angst just remain patient. His time has not yet come...but when it does...muahahahaha! We promise you, he IS going to get his fair share. :D**

**Please review! We really love all the feedback we are getting and we can't wait to hear what you have to say about this chapter! Thanks a lot:P **

**And you should be getting responses some time today.;)**

**And we actually had a friend. Marie Delcore, render us a picture of Hrethel and Hugin. If you would like to see it go to our home page and then look on the nav bar at the top and find "original characters" click on that and then scroll down until you find the pic. **


	7. Call to Redemption

_Dementia_

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Call to Redemption

It had been some time close to noon when Derufin had finally decided to roll out of bed and make a valiant attempt at gaining awareness. It had been an hour later when he had finally gotten his clothes on and fetched himself some breakfast. And minutes after that he had started to descend the stairs down into the castle's lower cells –the ones reserved for the special prisoners of Ulfang's.

It was one of those mornings when he expected to forget his cell-keys or something once he reached the bottom of the stairs. And they were long stairs. Fortunately when he had reached his hand in his pocket his fingers had enclosed around the metal ring and its jingling appendages. Smiling dryly, he had stridden confidently down the cell-laced corridors, navigating his way through the prison as though it was his home.

Collecting the Elf from his cell had been interesting enough, despite the fact that the creature had remained silent.

Now the Elf was chained to the wall in front of him, with his hands secured up near his shoulders. From the expression flittering in the young, dimmed hazel eyes and the dark bruising decorating the Elf's fair, incandescent skin he was sure that the creature had seen this room once already. "I see introductions aren't necessary."

Roth kept his mouth pressed in a tight, white line.

"You've been here before."

Silence.

"You're pretty tight-lipped, aren't you?" Derufin sighed, rotating his shoulders with a strange sort of popping sound that Roth guessed was supposed to be intimidating. "Look Elf, I've had a rough night and morning…don't test me."

Rothinzil chuckled inwardly, but outwardly his voice remained deceptively calm. "You? I think I am the…one who fared worse."

"Unferth told me about the machine and said he tried the adjustments out on you," Derufin mentioned idly, as though repeating facts from some horrific text book.

Roth just twisted his face away. But his breathing hitched painfully and his jaw clenched, biting back a small cry. His joints in his shoulders and legs and hips were remonstrating painfully with every move. When he had woken up this morning he had thought he would never move again for fear of the agony that shot through his body's every fiber. Whimpering slightly, he turned his head to look his tormentor in the eyes. He tried to look angered, or at least somewhat threatening like Legolas could, but the glaze covering his eyes only caused Derufin to chuckle.

"This is my job, Elf. How many times do you think a person has glared at me that way? And to be honest I wouldn't even mark yours as one of the best."

Roth held his glower for a little while longer before his exhausted body heaved a deep, painful breath and he shuddered, coughing as his breath caught.

Scrutinizing his prisoner closely, Derufin took in the marks of torment on the Elf's exposed torso and arms. Unferth had been decidedly cruel very quickly and Derufin's experienced eye could quickly distinguish wounds left behind by multiple methods of torment. Roth's deformed draw-back hand was the easiest to pick out. Two out of the five fingers were broken. "You made him angry, didn't you?"

Roth bit his lip as the human touched his hot, swollen fingers none too gently. He pitched his head forward, suppressing a scream of pain as Derufin straightened one of his broken fingers dispassionately. A sweat broke out on Roth's body and his hair clung to his face. "Relax, that's what it is going to feel like to fix them," the man purred, starting to get into the spirit of things.

"Look…." Roth gasped, swallowing down his pain and fear for the sake of the moment. "This is pointless…the information I could give…is p-possibly outdated."

"Well it has to start somewhere, doesn't it?" Derufin was not put off. "And if it is outdated, why don't you go ahead and cough it up then?"

Rothinzil's glower darkened. "No."

Derufin shook his shaggy head, a cold, haunting smile pulling back on his lips. "I am afraid that was not the answer I was looking for. Try again."

Roth felt panic needling his heart and his voice had sunk to a whisper. "No."

"Sooner or later you are going to tell me, Elf. And do you know why?" Derufin prepared to explain, leaning on the wall beside his victim close enough that he was within the bounds of Rothinzil's glow. "Because your wife's life hangs in the balance, that's why."

Rothinzil didn't even recognize his surroundings anymore. Time, pain, everything –even his hammering heart, seemed to have stopped and he felt as though the floor had shattered beneath his feet. "H-how?" He stammered, clearly caught off guard.

Derufin shrugged carelessly, looking sideways at the Elf from where he leaned on the wall. "We have our spies. It won't be hard to find the location of your house and if we want, kidnap her and bring her here. It wasn't hard to do to you, was it?"

Derufin was well experienced in this area. This room was his arena and he was ring master. If he wanted to, he could make one's conscience and heart jump through multiple hoops. Right now Roth's heart was walking a high-wire.

"You keep your filthy minions away from her!" Roth hissed, for the first time all signs of fear banished from his countenance and replaced by a seething anger. His glow expanded furiously and the glaze seemed to recede from his hazel eyes.

"Did I hit a nerve?" The human asked, amused, pushing himself off of the wall. "You know," he mused openly, "I still find it odd that your wife is…well _human_. I would think that would be a taboo among your kind."

Silence.

"Oh, it is, isn't it?" he purred, clearly reaching the peak of his game. "And why would the Elves -like your prince for instance, value the life of a criminal, hm? They probably don't even care you're here."

"It's not like that!" Roth spat, unable to help himself.

"Oh really, then why do you not even live among your own kind? Do you really trust us humans that much more?" Derufin scoffed, almost laughing at the distress and anger that was clearly pulsing through his victim.

_/Helluin wanted to live with _**her**_ own kind_./ Rothinzil's face was blank, torn between pain and fury. He had never wanted to leave the Elves, whom he had finally begun to get close to and feel comfortable among after all these years of mistrust. Helluin had never asked it of him, but he knew that she felt most comfortable in Lake Town and so he wanted to live where she was happiest. He still didn't regret the decision, but sometimes it still hurt.

"You know not of what you speak!" His voice was low and bleeding with freed pain.

"Oh I think I do," Derufin disagreed, shaking his head. "But enough of this lovely talking. I have asked you a question and you refuse to comply with an answer. I know you know that the other Elves died…but did you know that it was I who killed them?"

:0Ї0:

Cold, cold, cold, cold…Aragorn shivered and tried unsuccessfully to hug himself. His knees were pressed up against his chest, and his body trembled as fever fraught his system with the liquid fire that he had been only too quick to forget. With his hands chained apart, and above his head, the only solace he could offer himself was pulling his knees up against his chest to try and contain his fleeing body heat.

"Roth...I am s-s-so s-sorry." His forehead touched his knees, pitching forward as he stifled a delirious cry of frustration and pain. Maybe if he had fought a little harder then Roth wouldn't have had to have been captured. Or maybe if he had been by himself then he alone could have been captured…maybe he would have simply died. He wished he weren't so weak that another Elf had to suffer because of him.

:0Ї0:

Travel had come to a stand still for Hrethel and Hugin and they sat almost motionlessly on their horses as the green of hills and forests rolled out before them. Hugin's expression was akin to one a kitten might have gazing into a bowl full of scrumptious looking fish. "It's green," he noted softly, blinking.

The landscape before them with trees, completed with actual color contrasted sharply with the hideous death-like aura of their own town. Neither of the brothers had ever traveled far beyond the Second Capitol's boundaries and so had never experienced anything less than desolation.

Hrethel smiled. "Aye. Surprised?"

Hugin glared. "I am an assassin. You of all people should know that we are never surprised."

Hrethel frowned, amused. A twinkle, long thought lost, brightened his dark eyes. "Oh really? Because I distinctly remember a time when you-"

"Details, details," Hugin cut him off, waving his hand carelessly in the air. He continued soaking in their surroundings, as though if he stared at it long enough he could take it all back home with him. The last thing he remembered touching that was green was a little flower he had brought his mother. It probably would sound foolish if he said it, but he believed that with her all the green things had finally died and withered away. "Brother?"

Hrethel looked up from where he had been idly inspecting the straps on the saddle bags. "Hmm?" He tightened the straps another notch, causing the horse to nicker remonstratively.

Hugin shook his head when he saw that Herthel was preoccupied and then shrugged. "Never mind."

Hrethel's brows knit and his eyes narrowed disbelievingly. He pointed an accusing finger at his younger brother who was failing miserably at looking innocent. "I have known you for nigh on twenty-four years now and you still think you can lie to me?"

Hugin smiled conspiratorially, somehow managing to look summers younger. "You know me only too well," he confessed, the smile reluctantly ebbing away.

Hrethel quirked a brow expectantly, obviously expecting a confession of paramount importance. Nowadays things were not merely about stealing pastries or sweets from the kitchen. He missed those days. They had been simple and, for the most part innocent.

"I just…they killed mother didn't they?" he asked shakily, his voice sinking almost below audibility. His hands tightened around his horse's reigns, curling his fingers around the leather straps and squeezing as his heart compressed painfully in his chest.

Hrethel shifted nervously, worried by the change in his brother's usually carefree demeanor. Ice lined his stomach, slowly drawing into a knot. "Yes. But there was nothing we could do about it."

"I know…but don't we do that now to other people?" Hugin returned, obviously having not even reached the climax of his confession yet. His hands fingered the reins nervously. He looked down and found them to be laced with a cold sweat.

"You chose a really inconvenient time to start growing a conscience, do you know that?" Hrethel reprimanded lightly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Be serious Hrethel!"

"No! Why don't you be serious?" Hrethel spat, feeling thoroughly unnerved and out of his element. He had thought even if he couldn't rely on anything else he could rely on his brother, but apparently he didn't know Hugin half as well as he had hoped. It left him with very little familiar ground to grasp as he headed into this new territory.

"I am being serious, brother," Hugin murmured softly, shaking his head. "Please calm down," he plead, trying to remain rational.

"Why do you have to care about these things now? You never cared before," Hrethel growled impatiently, frightened.

Hugin's stared at the ground and his shoulders rose and fell in concurrence with an intense sigh. "Do you think we will have to answer for those atrocities some day… in the afterlife perhaps?"

If Hrethel had thought his brother was in a rare mood earlier, he thought he was bordering on losing his mind now. Refraining himself from dropping his jaw, he fielded the question at a stammer, "I-I-I don't know! Do you think that you are going to die or something?"

Hugin's eyes dropped and he shrugged. "Maybe."

"Assassins don't have souls to worry about Hugin! We lost them a long time ago-"

Hugin glared. "I don't believe that! Do you think that mother would believe that! Do you _really_ believe that?"

Hrethel suddenly went deathly white. "You have the Sickness, don't you?" The realization slammed into him like a blow to the stomach and his hands trembled slightly. Clenching them into fists to hide his weakness and fear, he asked more softly, "Don't you?"

Hugin didn't answer, just looked at the mountains in the distance and then over his shoulder towards home. But his dark, sparkling eyes were dimmed, as though he was sincerely sorry.

"Answer me!"

"Yes brother, I have it," Hugin replied almost inaudibly.

Hrethel's breath hitched and caught in his lungs and his heart seemed to stop. He didn't feel the wind softly caressing his hair or the smell of the green grass carried on its invisible wings. The sun, though beaming down on him, didn't warm his back. His brother's words had taken him back through time.

"_Want to race?" Hugin asked, a mischievous smile splitting his thin face. _

"_No, because you cheat!" _

Hugin rolled his eyes. "I most certainly do not! Brother, stop making excuses…"

They had been twelve and fourteen. Twelve years ago.

"_Where's mother?" Hugin's dark eyes had turned humid with the weight of suppressed tears. _

"_She's gone…" _

That had been ten years ago.

And he had never looked back…until now.

"Why did you tell me sooner, brother?" Hrethel asked, finally sucking in half a breath –barely enough to get the words out.

"I'm sorry-"

"Sorry?" The older brother fumed, setting his jaw. "You should have told me! I could have helped you!"

"You and I both know there is no cure!" Hugin spat defensively, finally becoming scared at the prospect of his fate. His heart was starting to hammer against his ribcage, but that only caused the sickness to spread faster throughout his blood stream –all though it wasn't as though his blood wasn't fully tainted already. "How do you think I feel? Do you know hard it was to hide this during assignments? During sparring matches?"

"Hugin-"

"No, you listen!" Hugin cut his brother off, seething. "No one thinks about death until they have to, apparently even us." He had been all too willing to deal it out but now he wasn't sure about how he felt about receiving it. "The fact is that I am dying…and I am not sure that I am prepared to answer for everything I have done!"

Hrethel finally had heard about as much as he could take. "Well it's a little late to try and start clearing your conscience now!"

Hugin's hackles rose and the light of battle glimmered behind his eyes. "Well better late than never, brother! I am not going on this mission."

"Well then where do you think that you are going to go then? You can't go back, they'll kill you!"

Hugin shrugged. "I'm going to die anyway."

"Now you are being stubborn-"

"You used to be stubborn with me." Hugin's eyes turned softer, pleading for help from the only family he had left. "Brother, I want my conscience cleared. I- I want to change."

"I am afraid you and I both know I am not the best person to ask for help," Hrethel admitted quietly, thinking. "How bad is the Sickness?"

"The sunlight hurts me, brother." Hugin winced, looking up at the fiery orb rising in the sky, unleashing its painful light. He blinked and turned his watering eyes downward, swallowing back the agony that seemed to be spurting through his veins.

It was advanced…and worse, it was still _advancing_.

Hanging his head, Hrethel forced himself to face reality when all he really wanted to do was run –run anywhere. Finally, the heart that had calloused over inside was beginning to melt as it warmed. "What do you want me to do?"

"Walk beside me, as always, my brother."

"What are you going to do?"

Hugin lifted his head with obvious effort and blinked, focusing his pain-glazed eyes towards the general direction of Lake Town. "Hide Helluin."

:0Ї0:

Legolas blinked, opening his eyes slowly as even the minutest muscles of his body were reluctant to obey his mind's commands. Slowly his addled brain registered the sand sticking to his soaked clothes and skin, grinding against his tender bruises. Moaning, he stared up at the afternoon sunlight, trying to remember where he was, and allowing the heat to caress his stiff body.

He remembered fighting, and then he remembered falling…ah yes, that was it. It had been a strange tactic but by way of luck he had managed to break through the boards that supported Lake Town and fall into the water, thus avoiding being recaptured or worse.

Some how this string of memories didn't make him feel any better and he moaned again, louder this time.

Sitting up, he held a hand against his head, as though trying to contain his headache to merely his head. He was never going to go swimming again. _Never_.

He saw Lake Town not too far off, still floating on the Long Lake and it was hard to believe that he had been in that town last night fighting for his life. He smiled as he remembered Ulrad's astonished cursing and he could just imagine the look on the human's face when he simply fell through the wood. Oh well, Ulrad wasn't dead, so he had a feeling he would see the man again, even if he didn't make the face.

**TBC...Yes, before you say it we realize this chapter is late. lol Well there are multiple reasons for this, which you probably don't want to hear but here they are: first of all, there was an error that would not let us upload. Then when we were ready to upload we were both far too tired. We literally stayed up all night at a library lock-in with Stacee Phelps (a fellow writer you probably have heard of). Yes, we know, how much more nerdier can three people get? LOL Well it was fun but we literally watched the sun come up so yeah...we have NO ENERGY. Therefore, if you want review responses to be intelligent, you will have to wait for tomorrow. Sorry.**

**Of course, the fact that we are tired doesn't mean you shouldn't review! LOL As a matter of fact, please do! We can't wait to hear what you thought of this chapter, especially since it was a bit more Hrethel-Hugin centric. :D And maybe reviews will help wake us up a bit. lol**


	8. The Sting of Betrayal

**Yes, for this chapter there is a tissue warning. Keep that box of Puffs close!** **LOL But seriously, have tissues! **

_Dementia_

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

The Sting of Betrayal 

Rothinzil tripped, caught himself on the wall and slid down it, quickly nestling himself into the security of the far corner in he and Aragorn's prison. Drawing his knees up to his chin, he faced outward and wrapped his arms around them. Derufin eyed him, taking mental notes on Roth's physical and mental state. Experience told him the Elf was a lot more frightened than he was willing to let on –as was the typical case with his assignments. "Good night, Elf," he said, giving a sweeping, mock bow.

Rothinzil glared and rested his chin on his knees, but other than that made no other movements. He hurt too much. His eyes followed the human until he left the cell and shut the door. A resounding clang bounced around in the cell for moments after he was gone.

"Roth?" Aragorn ventured, carefully working the hide his own agonies and illness. In truth, he felt like he was going to be sick, but Rothinzil obviously didn't need any more to worry about.

The Elf didn't reply, just looked at him. Roth's normally comical, endearing hazel eyes were large and watery –sickly looking.

"Rothinzil?"

The Elf leaned sideways against the wall, closing his eyes wearily but not uttering a word.

"Rothinzil stop it! You are scaring me!" Aragorn hissed, doubting that was Roth's real intent but frustrated and unnerved nonetheless.

"Sorry," the Elf murmured brokenly. His lips were the only thing that moved, and they were frighteningly pale. His midnight hair stuck to his forehead, which was dampened by a cold sweat beading across its surface. A slight flush colored Roth's cheeks in a way that Aragorn was sure to be anything but healthy.

"You needn't be. It isn't your fault," Aragorn assured, wincing as his own wounds and illness vied for his attention. They were becoming ruthless in their tactics now, and the number he became to their ill affects, the more virulent they became.

A soft smile twitched at the corners of Roth's lips, but he didn't seem to possess the strength to expound on it. Although the Elf's eyes were closed and his breathing had begun to even out, Aragorn knew that Rothinzil was not sleeping.

"Roth?"

No answer.

"Rothinzil," Aragorn coaxed, gentler this time. "I know you aren't sleeping." _Stubborn Elf…._

"No…I'm not," a soft, halfhearted voice conceded.

"Roth, what did they do to you? You've changed…" Aragorn whispered, admittedly afraid to hear the response but unable to help but ask.

"Imagine that."

Aragorn waited, hoping despite his fears to hear more. Unfortunately, it quickly became one of those situations where the silence was screaming, and loud. He felt, as well as heard, his own heart beat faster inside his chest, thrumming in his ears. "Roth-"

"Please…I don't wish to discuss it." The Elf's voice was soft, wavering and he pulled his legs closer against his body, hiding his face behind their knees. He could feel tremors starting in his body again as memories of Derufin's effective and underestimated cruelty piled down on him once more with mind-crushing weight. The man had seemed so laid back, but Rothinzil had quickly discovered that he knew his work well, and the reason that he had been so at ease was that he knew exactly what he had to do to get what he wanted.

"Rothinzil, I am not going to let them drag you back there again," Aragorn promised in the most comforting, sympathetic tone of voice possible.

A small, cynical snort escaped the folded up Elf. "You can't stop them."

"Yes…I can."

Rothinzil lifted his head, his tired eyes half hopeful. "Really? How?"

Aragorn felt something inside snap at the hopeful look pouring into the Elf's eyes. He could tell that Rothinzil was about ready to do anything to avoid another session in that room. "Just trust me …and get some rest."

"You're going to do something s-stupid…aren't you?" the Elf mumbled.

Aragorn raised his brows, shocked to some degree. "Well you're one to talk."

Rothinzil just offered a weak grin. However, moments later his face become grave and he shook his head again before closing his eyes and setting his chin on his knees, seemingly preparing to go to sleep for the night.

"Roth?"

The Elf raised his head slightly, looking over at the human through half-lidded eyes. "Hmmmmm…?"

"I _am_ going to stop them."

"Human…always so sure," the warrior quoted Legolas absentmindedly, speaking volumes about his state of mind at the moment. Rothinzil had more faith in mankind than almost any Elf at any given time. To hear him tossing around comments such as that one made the ranger sick. Rothinzil was frightened badly, and in his regression to older, less friendly times, the race of men was going to take the blame. He may have not meant anything he said, but in this sort of situation Aragorn imagined that even the most outrageous joke had some truth to it.

_Well right now I am not joking mellon nin. You have a wife that loves you, and friends who care for you and you're going to be a father. I am not going to let them torture your loyal spirit to death. _

Aragorn knew that he had a family that loved him literally more than life itself. He knew they would never understand his decision, but he simply couldn't live with Roth leaving and coming in _wishing_ to be at death's door every day…sometimes every few hours. By the same token, he knew the feelings were mutual and that the reversing of their positions was going to break Roth's sensitive heart.

:0Ї0:

Helluin sat in her rocking chair by the fire of her and Roth's little cottage. However, she looked anything but peaceful, and if it were possible, she had also aged close to a decade. Her crystalline blue eyes stared at the spot where Roth had always sat…singing some sweet tune in murmured Elvish as he had held her…or looked at her…or sat with his chin gently resting on his knees in the adorable way he always did, with his arms hugging his legs. Thinking of these things, she suddenly found her vision blurred by a barrage of stinging tears.

Burying her moistened face in her hands, she tried to tell herself that he was still alive. Her hands slowly drifted from her face to the growing bulge in her stomach. Running her tips over it, she whispered, "Oh Roth…couldn't you stay out of trouble just long enough to be a father?"

A knock at the door stole her attention and she raised her head, wondering who could be wanting to visit at this hour. Instinct kicked in seconds later though, and without even thinking about it she clutched the sword that was above the door. Pregnant or not, she still remembered how to use it, even if it would be a bit more awkward to yield.

She opened the door a crack and the two people standing on the step were glared at by a single, narrowed blue orb. "Who are you?" she growled, sensing nothing but trouble.

Hugin was the first to answer. "I am Hugin…this is my brother, Hrethel." He gestured to the other man behind him in a vague way that said he really wasn't too concerned.

Her glare hardened. Well this as something new…kidnappers introducing themselves.

"We are here to protect you," Hugin continued gently.

"I don't need protection," she refused the offer without a second thought, or even _half_ a second thought.

The door started to close.

Hrethel stopped it, reaching around his brother, who rolled his eyes. "We apologize for the late night visit, but I think it would be to your benefit if you would listen."

Helluin seemed unconvinced and Hrethel could sense a struggle for the mastery of the door about to ensue.

"We know about your husband…and your condition," he admitted, pointedly eyeing her bulge.

This seemed to catch her attention and she opened the door, admitting them entrance.

However, the instant they were within the confines of her house she leveled her sword with their throats, not even taking into account that they were armed to the teeth. "Where is Rothinzil!" she snarled, her blue eyes giving way to what seemed like ice.

"Whoa! Relax!" Hugin cautioned, eyeing the sword's sharpened edge warily. "Put that down before you hurt somebody!"

"Rest assured, I know how to use it," she promised, pushing the point towards them.

Hrethel stiffened at the sight of a blade so close to his brother's throat, especially with Hugin not doing anything about it. His younger brother just smiled warmly.

"Rest assured, we have been through worse than this and if we wanted you dead we could have done it already." He moved his hand from behind his cloak, revealing a small cross bow strapped to his arm that fit into his palm, armed with a small quiver of darts. And Hugin knew what Helluin did not -that each one was laced with poison.

"I feel so much better now," she snapped sardonically, punctuating her words with an eye roll. "Now _where_ is my husband and _how_ is he?"

Deciding that getting under a pregnant woman's skin when she was already under a severe amount of pressure was not a good idea, Hugin advised, "You will need to take a seat for your sake." Hrethel nodded, looking very uncomfortable, as though the air was too tight.

Helluin may have been maintaining her fighting demeanor well up until this point, but at those words the complexion of her face paled a couple shades and the sword inched lower and lower and until it was touching the ground. Hugin gently caught her before she sank to the ground and guided her to a nearby chair while Hrethel confiscated the sword and returned it to its hanging above the door.

Helluin's head hung dejectedly and her hands folded themselves around her swollen stomach. "I should have known this would happen…" she murmured, her voice trailing off miserably.

Looking even more uncomfortable, Hrethel found a cosy nook in a corner and delivered himself to its security, leaning against the walls with his arms crossed uncertainly. This was what Hugin wanted; therefore, he felt it was only fair that Hugin did most of the explaining and conversing. Anyway, Hugin always did have a way with women.

"He isn't coming home any time soon," Hugin started, trying to be delicate about Roth's condition.

Helluin didn't move, at all. It was possible she had stopped breathing. "He's hurt, isn't he?"

Lying was not a good start to clearing one's conscience, so Hugin kept his answer honest. "Yes…a lot actually…I'm sorry." Hugin felt a flush running to his cheeks and he bowed his head slightly, allowing his long dark hair to veil his guilt. He looked to Hrethel for help, but his brother deliberately looked away.

"How?" she asked, visibly fighting for composure. Her shoulders were trembling.

"He…he was captured. They asked him some questions and he didn't answer them-"

Helluin's head snapped up, her angry blue eyes brimming with tears and her red hair falling away from her ashen face. "So they are torturing him!"

Hugin looked like he could be sick any second and his hand unconsciously went to his stomach. "Something like that," he replied a bit weakly. Hugin had to look over to quiet Hrethel's mothering instincts. The older brother was obviously not pleased at the sight of his younger brother's obvious weakness, which he attributed to his Sickness.

Helliun's composure slipped out of her grasp and her shoulders shook inconsolably. "Why? Why?" she repeated in heartbroken mumbles.

Feeling slightly moved by her pain, Hugin clumsily stepped closer to her and protectively put his arm around her shoulders. Drawing her closer, though maintaining a considerable gap between them, he murmured softly, "You are going to have to come with us. You are going to need protection …you and your baby."

Helluin didn't seem to hear his words at first. All her thoughts were retracing times past…her in Roth's arms…the way he kissed her in his gentle, unobtrusive, nervous, way. She remembered the way he had flushed scarlet when her fingers had traced his pointed ears. He was such a gentle, kind soul…and they were _torturing_ him? _Torturing_. Remembering the way they first met…all the pain he had been in…she didn't want to think about him feeling that again.

Finally, Hugin's words registered. "W-what? I can't leave. What if he comes home?"

Hugin sighed heavily and exchanged a sorrowful glance with his brother. Neither said anything. They both knew how unfavorable the odds actually were, but she didn't need to. "He would want you safe," Hugin pressed. Dawn would be coming soon, and if they didn't get out unnoticed now then they were bound for more trouble later.

"He knows I can look after myself! How do I know that I can trust either of you?" she hissed, standing up from the chair so quickly that it toppled over.

Hugin backed away from her, allowing her some space. Hrethel simply remained in the corner, looking slightly annoyed. "Like I stated earlier: we could have killed you already, and without all this fuss. Trust me, you are going to need help before all of this is over. You have our word that we won't hurt you, but must come with us."

Finally understanding that she didn't have much of a choice, Helluin gave them one last, long indecisive glare before rushing off to the pantry to grab some pack-able foods. Hugin grabbed her arm, gently restraining her. "We can provide for that. Just grab something to keep you warm."

Wrenching her arm free and placing her hands on her hips, Helluin deepened her glower. "Its summer," she reminded in a tone of voice that clearly questioned their intelligence.

"You're pregnant," Hugin stated, as though this should explain everything. Hrethel rolled his eyes from the safety of his corner, appreciating the distance between the two of them and him.

Helluin arched a brow and her mouth hung open, clearly at a loss for words.

Hrethel nodded at Hugin from his corner, pushing himself from the wall in a manner that said he was ready to go. "So are we going to wait for the others to join this cheerful party, or are we going to leave them wondering what happened to us?"

Taking his brother's point, Hugin started to guide an unresisting Helluin towards the door. "I say we leave them wonder."

:0Ї0:

**Morning….**

Dawn had come, though the two prisoners couldn't tell the difference. Their view didn't change with the time of day, nor did the temperature. It was always cold, always dark.

Rothinzil's fatigued body had taken matters into its own hands and put the Elf into a deep sleep in a desperate effort to stabilize his traumatized, over taxed system. However, the Elf's face still didn't look peaceful and Aragorn knew that he was having dark, wicked dreams –the cruel price for rest. He had seen that look on Legolas' face before.

Normally Rothinzil was unable to sleep this deeply. His throbbing wounds kept him awake.

The familiar sound of heavy boots reverberated down the stone passage outside of the cell, signaling the return of Derufin and his helpers.

Looking at Roth sleeping in the corner with his chin resting on his knees, and his arms hugging his legs to his body, Aragorn whispered calmly, "I keep my promises mellon nin." He was surprised, but heartened, as the Elf's lips seemed to twitch upwards in a small, trusting smile. He doubted that Roth had heard a single word of what he had just said, and so he was glad to know that the Elf was having at least one pleasant dream.

The sound of the key entering the cell lock was heard and Aragorn glowered defensively at the door. Rapidly churning his plans over once more in his mind, Aragorn was able to mentally recite every step before the heavy wooden door banged open.

The loud noise coupled with the vibration along the wall had Rothinzil jerked awake in seconds. The Elf cringed in surprise and confusion and then ultimately, in despair as he realized night had passed all too quickly. Resigning himself to his fate in a way that only an Elf could do, he didn't fight the humans as they approached, preparing to drag him from the cell. He just sat there and waited, staring at the opposite wall.

Derufin stared at him, a smirk on his face. Crossing his arms, he reminded. "You don't have to go back to that dark, cruel room. You could tell me everything right here."

Roth just shivered, not even trying to suppress them anymore as they came too fast and too numerous. It wasn't worth wasting his energy. "And become a traitor…before my friend's eyes? Never. I would rather die."

His eyes sought out Aragorn, clearly saying _you said you would stop them…you promised…._Even in this misery Roth's sweet, trusting nature was winning over, and subconsciously, he had placed a lot of his hopes into Aragorn's promise, however impossible it was. He wouldn't blame Aragorn if he couldn't come through, but he was still terrified of the possibility.

Aragorn smiled encouragingly at the Elf, earning a backhanding slap across his face from one of Derufin's men. The blow was sudden and caught him off guard, tearing a small cry from the man. However, Aragorn quickly shoved his own pain and shock aside as he saw the men grab Roth's arms under instruction from Derufin, and start to pull him from the cell. Roth's face was white, and he refused to meet anyone's eyes.

"Stop! Wait!" Aragorn called after them, clanking his chains to emphasize his plea.

"Want us to spare him, hm?" Derufin questioned, bending Roth's neck back as he tangled his hand in the long, dark locks. Roth gave a slight whimper as he was pulled back so that he leaned against the human, facing Aragorn.

Aragorn's eyes were narrowed and his face had paled.

"Ah, so I see you do." Derufin had talent as a manipulator, hence his position. Pulling harder on Roth's hair, he forced the Elf's neck back even farther. Just as he had expected, the Elf let out another anxious whimper and leaned into him in an effort to alleviate some of the tension. His joints and muscles still felt out of place from the machine they had used on him earlier and so even the smallest stretching of them sent agony through his entire frame.

"What do you want to know?" Aragorn asked quietly, feeling Roth's surprise and outrage even though the Elf didn't utter a sound. "I offer this: the information you seek in return for my friend's life. He is not to be put to death or harmed further."

Impressed, Derufin shoved Rothinzil forward, causing the Elf to trip on an uneven cobblestone of the prison floor, putting him on his knees. A kick in the small of Roth's back forced the captive onto his stomach. To assure he stayed there, Derufin nestled his boot between Roth's shoulder blades and ground it against the bones. Roth hissed slightly, his head turned to the side with his cheek pressed to the floor.

Rolling his eyes over to look at Aragorn, he couldn't help the tears of betrayal and shock that slid slowly down his cheeks like little rivers, washing away the dirt and blood -the blood he had shed to keep the secrets Aragorn was about to surrender. Feeling his heart going to pieces, Rothinzil was beginning to see why Legolas mistrusted humans. He had gone through so much agony and fought himself to keep from screaming out the desired answers and now it was all in vain.

Aragorn sighed heavily, looking at the tears silently washing Roth's cheeks. Seeing Aragorn looking at him, the Elf closed his eyes. The more he looked at Aragorn the more he hurt.

"I think that is a deal we can work out," Derufin said, smiling with a flourish.

Success. He had it this time. His lord would be pleased.

:0Ї0:

Ulfang, unaware of the goings on in his dungeons, was far from happy. "I raised him. I personally taught him everything he knows. I spared both of their miserable lives!" he snarled, forming his thin hand into a fist. "Are you sure that they have turned traitor?"

Unferth, while smiling brightly on the inside, maintained an openly distraught expression. "Hugin has for certain. Hrethel may be brought to see reason. He was always the saner of the two."

"This," Ulfang spat, over enunciating each word, "Is. Not. The. Time. For. Jesting. Captain." Sighing, he put his face into his hand and mumbled, "Can you confirm your suspicions?" In truth, he was reluctant to send his best assassins to their deaths, which, if they had in truth, betrayed him, were promised to be bloody and slow.

Unferth feigned discomfort, and scratched the back of his head. "He was always saying things that lead me to believe he was hiding something. So…I paid a boy to search his saddle-bags, and a journal was found. Remember sir, it was you who had them both learn how to read and write in order to file reports," he reminded, doing his best to find and hit the right nerve that would sentence both of the brothers to death.

"Unferth, you have yet to produce a damn thing," Ulfang reminded a bit sharply, obviously fighting his temper.

Taking that as his cue, Unferth reached into the flaps of his large overcoat and closed his hands over the binding of a small book. Drawing it out, he placed it reverently in Ulfang's black-gloved hands. "Here it is. Seems to me as though he signed his own death warrant –multiple times."

Ulfang glowered at him. "You would love that, wouldn't you? I am not an idiot, Captain. You aren't telling me these things as a loyal subject. You have a score to settle. Well be careful, lest I feel you beneath my trust as well. You could join them." His hands flipped through the book and he glowered at the pages, reading a line here or there. All the same, he found enough in multiple spots in the pages to prove Unferth's point beyond the shadow of a doubt.

Unferth's inward smile brightened and his inner devil started up a merry jig.

"Captain, I want you to take a detachment and apprehend them. Bring them here alive, and _unharmed_." Glowering from behind his black shrouds, he growled, "I hope that doesn't prove to hard a task for you."

He was giving Unferth a warning, and Unferth understood. Bowing slightly, he assured, "Worry not, my lord. I will bring them here, alive and unharmed."

He turned his back to leave but was halted by one last order.

"And Unferth, I want that Elf's wife dead."

**TBC...Alrighty Aragorn fans...please don't murder us! You said you wanted Aragorn angst and its finally starting to gain momentum...maybe not the way you expected, but it is. **

**Yes, this was a very sad, angsty, perfectly cruel chapter. But this whole story is doomed to be like this. :D Please review, as always! Thank you! **

**And expect review responses this evening:P**


	9. So Cold

**Authors' apologies/notes at the bottom. **

_Dementia_

**CHAPTER NINE**

So Cold

Roth couldn't seem to stop the violent tremors that shook his body. He had been taken out of the cell and put in another vast, holding cell that held much more than one or two people. It held several. It was where slaves were brought and kept before being sold by Ulfang. The money earned from helped profit his campaign and he was expecting more than a pretty penny or two for Roth.

A lot of the men in the cell looked like future pit-fighters, or something equally brutal. Though strong after his own fashion, Rothinzil knew that as far as raw strength went he was no match for even one of these men. Huddled in the corner, he did his best to remain invisible to their eyes.

He continued to shake as he remembered Aragorn's betrayal and looked at the wounds marring his once creamy skin. His blood had been spilled for nothing, and his screams too had been for naught. He could have told them from the beginning and maybe he would have gotten lucky and been put to death rather than forced into a life of slavery. Now his life was completely in fate's hands. He had no idea who he would be bullied into calling master or what tasks the said master might ask of him.

His chest constricted and a wet, heart broken sob quietly gurgled up, unnoticed by the men sharing the small space with him. His unborn child, Legolas, his wife, Thranduil, the twins –even Aragorn –he would never see any of them again. He had already been told what would happen to him if he even should attempt escape.

Sensing someone watching him, Roth raised his head and stared at a huge, burly man. "Well now, an Elf. That's different."

Roth's hackles instinctively bristled. "Leave me alone!" he hissed bitterly, the tears in his eyes drying up as he became defensive.

The man chuckled. "We're all scared, Elf. Relax." He reached out to give Roth an assuring pat on the shoulder, but the Elf shied away from his hand. He didn't want to be touched by anyone, let alone a complete stranger.

This, of course, attracted even more humans to see their strange cell mate. Cornered, Roth only became more defensive.

"So they broke you, huh Elf?" one man said, leaning against the wall by Rothinzil. The Elf glared at him, feeling the tears reforming in his eyes.

"No," he whispered, almost swallowing the word as he bit back tears. "My friend."

The men all shared sorrowful glances, and then stared down at the Elf. They all had been through the Slave Ring at least once or twice, and they had seen an occasional Elf, but it was very, very rare. Unfortunately, the small amount of experience they had assured them that the Elf before their eyes was in for much worse than they were. Elves had more endurance, and once this one was healed he would make a diligent worker, providing that his stubbornness didn't return with his health. Although, from the look in his watery eyes, they doubted he would ever get his spirit back.

:0Ї0:

For the second time in six hours, Aragorn emptied his stomach. His illness, which he had been trying to hide, finally had breeched its limits. However, he might have still been able to restrain himself from vomiting if it had not been for him remembering the look in Roth's eyes when he had been dragged out. As far as the Elf knew, he had been stabbed in the back, and there was no way for Aragorn to explain otherwise. Having known a bit more of Rothinzil's past than anyone besides Legolas, Aragorn didn't want to try and think what the Elf was probably feeling.

Of course, Aragorn had not betrayed anyone. He knew how hard it was to withhold information under these circumstances and he was not going to prove Rothinzil's efforts to be in vain. However, he couldn't bear to watch them slowly break the will behind Roth's eyes. He had seen that will broken before, and he wasn't going to see the Elf regress into the darkness that had nearly killed him once before.

He had given them information. As a matter of fact, he had told them exactly what they had wanted to hear –but what they had wanted to hear wasn't the truth. They wanted to hear that Mirkwood was defenseless and weak –ripe for invasion, and he had told them exactly that, though in more words. He had literally fabricated all of his statistics as well as names. There was only one problem: he was sure that the information was not militarily sound. If someone who was in the military heard it, it would make no sense. Derufin was not a military man so he had no idea, of course, which made this all better.

Of course, once it was discovered that it was false, Aragorn knew that they would return. However, by that time hopefully Rothinzil would be well out of harm's way. Aragorn knew that his system was weak enough from illness that he wouldn't last long under interrogation –he would die. He wouldn't tell them anything, but he would die.

:0Ї0:

Helluin sat at the mouth of the cave, staring sadly off into the distance. She didn't see the trees, or the mountains, or hear the brooks. To her the place seemed empty and each of her breaths seemed to echo for an eternity. Rothinzil was gone and a deep void had been ripped into her heart, leaving a gapping wound. Sighing, she buried her face in her hands.

Hugin thought she was going to cry again. She had been doing it off and on since they had arrived here and she had possessed time to think about their situation. He looked to Hrethel for help, but his older brother remained silent, leaning in a corner of the cavern. The only thing noticeable was his eyes reflecting the firelight. All else was shrouded in the darkness.

Deciding that he had nothing to lose, Hugin came up alongside the heartbroken woman. "Do you mind if I sit next to you?" he asked softly, hoping that he wasn't intruding or making matters worse.

She nodded wordlessly and he sat cross-legged a few feet away. Cupping his chin with his hands, he stared at the ground and they shared a moment of silence. The night seemed to gain strength.

"When is your child due?"

Helluin shrugged. "Months from now."

Hugin smiled weakly, nodding. "Rothinzil must be very proud."

Helluin laughed gently, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "He was…when I told him he couldn't believe it. He blushes a lot, you know? Well his face went scarlet –even the points on his ears and he had to lean on the wall. But he was grinning the entire time…" She sighed, completely lost in the memory. He had to have been the happiest Elf in existence for a few minutes. He had acted as though he had been walking on a cloud all day.

Hugin's smile gained strength. He had never had a family. It must bring one a warm, special feeling, he decided. "I'm sorry about your husband."

Helluin's chin quivered and she turned her head away. "Me too. …Why did they have to choose him?"

Hugin sighed, shivering slightly as his illness suddenly spiked the constant level of pain. "He was the one who fought them…he didn't go down without a fight, Helluin. Fate chose him."

A bitter, hard laugh chortled past her lips. "Fate?" Suddenly her face crumpled and her eyes squeezed shut. She leaned against Hugin, unintentionally pressing against a more tender part of his dying body. Her body shook and hot tears coursed down her face. "I miss him…I miss him so much…"

Mechanically, Hugin put an arm around her shoulder. Against her will, her body wrapped its arms around him and she held herself closely against his shoulder. Wet sobs soaked his sleeve as she finally broke down. One of her hands slid free and cradled the swell of her stomach. "I keep waiting…expecting to hear his footsteps…he was never an agile Elf…but he was always there before…" she murmured into Hugin's shirt.

Hrethel remained in the back, watching them quietly. A small spasm in his hand caused him to turn his back to them. Tugging off its black leather glove, he splayed his fingers. His hand looked as though it had been smashed in a door. Purple mottled the skin, like dark, nasty bruises. "I've got a secret, my brother," he murmured into the air. "I am sick too." The fingers curled against his palm and agonies coursed his arm. "Damn," he hissed, barely containing his pain.

He had probably been sick longer than his brother had, however, unlike his brother, he had never even thought of death. At least not seriously. He had always promised he would not die, because his younger brother was still alive. Being older, instinct made him fight to live as long as he had someone to protect. But his brother was dying. They _both_ were dying.

Helluin stared off into the darkness, having shoved herself away from Hugin. Rothinzil was going to come back. He was. _Eventually_. She knew it. She felt it. She dreamed of it.

A dark shape moving silently amongst the brush caused her skin to prickle. It was a tall figure, slender, and moving with obvious caution. "Roth…?"

The figure rasped slightly and she shuddered. Hugin's attention was immediately caught and he pierced the bushes with hard, grey eyes.

Legolas steadied himself against a tree, panting with exertion and pain from his injuries. Blood still crusted his body with red, dark streaks. Bruises and damaged ribs made breathing a torment and he coughed, lining his mouth with a coppery tasting substance –his own blood.

Without warning, Hugin gently shrugged Helluin from him and found his feet. He cursed inwardly as he felt his legs shudder slightly, the tired, sick muscles complaining. Forcing them to comply, he briefly checked his miniature crossbow before exiting the cave.

Legolas raised his head, glowering at the shadowy figure advancing on him. Having no weapons, the Elf knew that his best chance was to lie low. Unfortunately, his broken heart was riled and he clenched his teeth in a sort of frustrated snarl. His fingers scraped against the sharp bark of the tree as they tried to curl into his palm to form a fist.

Suddenly, he was taken back as something embedded itself in the trunk of the tree with a soft thud. His nose had narrowly missing being shot through by the projectile. Steeling himself, Legolas prepared for further attack. Something told him that that shot had been meant to miss.

"An Elf," an observational, quiet monotone muttered. Hugin kept his crossbow aimed and loaded, but it was obvious that his intentions were not to kill.

Legolas forced his legs to remain functional and continued to stand. Gasping, he trembled as rage and pain surged through his body like an electrical shock from a lightning bolt. "You're one of them…" he hissed dangerously.

"I _was_ one of them. Past tense, Elf….Looks like you have had a rough time." He stepped cautiously closer. His experience with Elves was minimal and he didn't feel like finding out afterwards that they could kill you from feet away with some sort of spell, or perhaps so little as a glare.

Exhausted to the point of helplessness, Legolas collapsed to his knees. He felt the earth as it pressed cold against his torn leggings and skin. Dew slowly bled through the thin, ripped material and caused him to shiver. "Why…should I believe you?" He fought he slur slipping into his voice.

"Well, you don't really have much choice," Hugin explained, finally lowering his weapon and leaning against the tree in what appeared to be a casual manner. In all actuality, his insides felt like they were melting from an internal inferno of pain. He didn't have much time left, there was no denying that now.

Even in pain, Legolas wasn't stupid and his Elven senses detected the agony flaring through his assailant. "You aren't in such g-great shape yourself," he growled fiercely, refusing to let down his guard just yet.

Hugin somehow managed to keep a straight face and not jump several feet into the air and the above branches of the tree. "Better than you in some regards, all things considered…So, are we enemies?"

Legolas knew he was more than a bit delusional at the moment and for a few seconds he was sure that he had been hallucinating. Did this man who had nearly shot him just ask if they were enemies? Something wasn't right here. Somewhere along this line of conversation they had gotten their wires crossed. "What is your game?" The Elf persisted, forcing a weak calm factor into his voice.

Hugin sighed. "Let's just put it this way, your friends' lives are the stakes."

Legolas had a feeling that he really wasn't going to like where this conversation was going. "W-where are they?"

"Rotting away in their cell I would imagine," Hugin's reply was smooth.

Legolas' weak state seemed to worsen by degrees of ten as reality slowly sank in. His friends were gone. He had lost them. "What information do you want? I will give it to you…just please, let them go," he choked, bowing his head and hugging himself as he finally gave into the despair that had slowly been chewing a whole in his heart and mind.

"I don't want anything from you. I told you, I _was_ one of them. Don't you Elves listen?" Mildly annoyed, Hugin sighed and shoved himself from the tree. The world around him seemed to lurch and he waited a moment until the trees stopped waltzing around his head in untraceable patterns. Blinking, he stared at the Elf sunk into the pine needles at his feet. Consciousness had finally fled the prince, and his eyes were rolled back, misery etched on the fair features.

Legolas was pale as snow, and badly battered. Bruising patterns told Hugin that the Elf's bones had suffered some trauma, as had the prince's head. How he had been getting around thus far was a mystery. However, how the Elf had become the recipient of the wounds was not near as hard to deduce. Ulrad was still around, that much was certain, and Hugin was certain that this Elf would have caught the captain's interest. After all, he told himself, staring at the blonde creature, this Elf was Prince Legolas.

Deciding that he simply couldn't leave the wounded, unconscious being to the mercy of the woodland creatures, Hugin crouched by Legolas' face. Pressing his fingers to the side of the Elf's neck, he felt a steady, but small and weak pulse. Of course he hadn't truly expected less from an Elf, but it didn't hurt to check. Gathering up the Wood-Elf, he was surprised at how little Legolas actually weighed. He had expected more, especially considering that the prince was tall and obviously had muscle. However, he was about as light as a child.

Of course, Hugin wasn't complaining. In his sick state it was likely that this weight was about as much as he could successfully bear.

Helluin was waiting at the mouth of the cave, looking as though she hadn't moved a muscle since he had left. However, her green eyes snapped to attention as she saw the figure folded up in Hugin's arms. "L-Legolas!" Jumping up as fast as her condition allowed her, she decided not to wait and rushed forward.

The ghastly pale look that clung to Legolas' face made her stomach lurch and she chewed her lower lip. Even his usual Elven aura was non-existent and the air around him seemed cold.

Coming up from the back of the cave, Hrethel assessed the situation with one sweeping glance. Scowling, watched as Hugin laid Legolas on the ground near the carefully stoked campfire, just inside the mouth of the grotto. The Elf was unresponsive.

Helluin trembled and reached out a pale, shaking hand to brush his matted, golden hair. His skin felt so cold. Forcing herself to touch the icy surface, she checked his pulse. Her discoveries matched Hugin's earlier ones. "He's exhausted himself, even after the trauma his body has undergone…" _Roth must really be in trouble too, or Legolas wouldn't go to these lengths_. She clasped her hand over her mouth and turned away, collecting herself and preparing to perform the arts of the healer within her. "You know where he is too, don't you Legolas?" she murmured quietly to the Elf as she looked around for a blanket.

Hugin made a puzzled face. Hrethel merely watched.

"He needs warmth, now, or he _will_ die from shock," she explained.

Removing his cloak, Hrethel handed it to her with a careless shrug. "He needs it more than I do." Even he had to admit that it was hard to stomach the white, frozen look that had come over the Elf's body. In the middle of summer, it was just plain eerie to see.

Hugin stepped outside, arms tightly wrapped around himself. The light of the fire was simply too bright. It made the pain flare in his body, but out here in the dark shade of the trees, where even the moonlight was filtered, he felt better. However, with the relief also came loneliness and he had never felt so cold.

**TBC...**

**Alright, first we know we must apologize for the extremely slow, and unfair updating time. We hate it when this happens to stories we read, and so we really hate doing it to you guys. But our senoir year in high school is just being ridiculously hard and taxing and it sort of takes the incentive out of writing and thinking when you have free time. Don't get us wrong, writing is great! But our brains are pretty much fried by the end of the day. Any quality writing is going to take time. (sigh) So we are sorry if we don't have time for review responses or posting regularly. Please, try to understand. **

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	10. Revelations

_Dementia_

**CHAPTER TEN**

Revelations

_It's gone, it's gone, it's gone! _Hugin's mind had slipped into panic mode as he frantically searched his saddle bags, repeatedly checking pockets which had already _been_ checked multiple times. "It's gone!"

Helluin glared over her shoulder, mildly annoyed at his antics as she tended to Legolas, who was now in a deep, comatose-like state of sleep. He was almost in suspended animation. She was about to ask Hugin what in Middle Earth he had lost, when Hrethel rolled his eyes.

"What's gone?" he snapped, not exactly in the greatest of moods. Their lives and the lives of this woman and her baby were on the line after all and in this game it was winner-takes-all. He didn't so much care about the Elves and he was honest enough to admit that he half way wished Legolas would die. _Trouble causing, stupid Elf…._

"My journal!" Hugin hissed, finally throwing the saddle-bag into a corner. As though to have the last word, he shot the discarded, spilled bag an exasperated, venomous glare. "And do you know what that means?" he finally snapped, skewering his brother with an equally unpleasant stare.

"That you were careless enough to lose it?"

Hugin's lips almost turned into a snarl. "No. It means Unferth has been getting into our stuff again! One of these days I am going to teach him a lesson about keeping his filthy paws to himself…"

"I am afraid that you would have to wait in a rather long line," Hrethel cut into the tirade, stopping it before it had a chance to truly take wing. "Why is this journal so important anyway??"

Hugin's face became shades paler. "It has everything in it!" Finding that his hands were shaking, he clenched them into angry fists. However, the action sent spirals of pain whirling up his arm. He didn't have much longer. His illness was reaching its zenith in his body.

"W-what?"

"My sickness, my wanting to leave…what part of the word "everything" confuses you?"

"Unfortunately nothing. This is…this is bad."

"One way to put it," Hugin ground out, sinking to the ground in despair as the harsh reality of the situation slowly caught up with his racing mind. They were doomed…and that was putting it rather nicely. Of course, he really didn't know what he was worried about. After all, he had bargained for trouble to begin with.

"What were you thinking? That your writings would one day be the philosophical discovery of the decade??" Hrethel seethed, grinding his teeth with frustration and a sick, sort of terror.

Hugin winced with the emotion behind his brother's words. "You never know, they could-"

"Or is it that you weren't thinking at all?" Hrethel hurled the words at Hugin, ignoring his brother's meek, as well as sarcastic, protest.

Their voices steadily grew, until Helluin was certain that they could wake the dead. So naturally, if they could wake the dead, it was enough to wake an only half-dead Elf. Legolas blinked, winced and shut his eyes. Wrinkles marred his brow as he fought back the merciless throbbing between his temples. There was some good to be said about being unconscious. "You two could wake the dead kings," he muttered groggily, before he realized that he had no idea who those two even were. Helluin was the only familiar face. "What in the name of Ulmo, is going on here?"

Hrethel glowered at the prince. A grumpy Elf was a grumpy Elf indeed. Though, his mental condition was understandable, maybe even pitiable….No, he changed his mind: just understandable. "Don't you Elves even thank your rescuers?"

"Rescuers?" Legolas inquired incredulously, raising a bruised brow. He didn't even bother to hide his dark expression.

Helluin sighed. Somehow, she had guessed that this would happen. She could say something right now, but honestly, she didn't want to get more involved than she absolutely had to.

"Yes, Elf," Hrethel snapped impatiently. "And it wasn't out of generosity." He wrinkled his nose disgustedly, planning insulting the groggy immortal.

Legolas sighed. He might have guessed there was a second motive. There always was. Generally people didn't do something for nothing, unfortunately. The world would probably work better if they did. "I didn't figure it was. You just don't strike me as the charitable breed."

Hrethel just shook his head. _Damn Elves. _"Don't you remember anything?"

Legolas frowned. He didn't. Not a thing. And what made that question burn in his mind was the knowledge that he knew he should be remembering. "What happened?" His voice was below the lowest octaves of a hushed whisper.

Hugin answered from the back of the cave, where he had taken up residence, more or less. "You were nearly dead when we found you…and you still need more patching, but if it weren't for us you would be dead. We could have let you die in the woods, you know."

Silence. The fire popped and Legolas stared as its starving flames gorged themselves on the wood and kindling. They could have left him there, but they didn't. But he just couldn't see them doing it purely out of the kindness of their hearts. Did Easterlings have kindness? He doubted it.

"So what is in this for you?"

"Forgiveness…a less harsh afterlife…?" Hugin affirmed; his mouth twisted slightly in annoyance as well as apprehension.

Putting the pieces together, Legolas glared. "So you think one good deed is enough to rid you of a life time of evil?"

Hrethel looked at his brother and Hugin shook his head. "Not at all. But I don't want to die knowing that all I did was bad. I want to have at least one good thing to answer for."

Well, Legolas admitted, that wasn't an answer he had expected. If someone had held up a sign written in Sindarin, with bright red, underlined lettering, he still wouldn't have seen it coming. "You what?" He gasped, barely grasping the situation. "You're helping us purely because you want to?"

Hrethel looked like he was ready to disagree with that statement, but his younger brother cut him off before he had the chance. "More or less. Personally, I don't like Elves very much. However, the fact that you have immortal life spans means that you must be in some way favored by those on the other side. If I want to die with less regrets, then I shouldn't kill you. You don't understand what it is like to think of an afterlife. You're immortal after all."

If Legolas had not been already worried beyond reason for the safety of his friends, and his home he might have pitied those two. However, he couldn't stifle the anger that bubbled up in his chest when he thought of his friends' fates. It would have been nice if these two brothers would have come to enlightenment earlier. Still, their reasons were purely selfish. Legolas knew that if he died by accident that they really couldn't possibly care less.

The expression on Helluin's face as she say beside the Elf was evidence enough she just about shared his opinions. Her arms were unconsciously cradling her swollen stomach.

Whatever happened, Legolas would protect her with his life.

Tossing off the cloaks, revealing his drier, but still bloodied and torn clothes, the prince struggled to find his feet. He failed and Helluin grabbed his arm to steady him, heedless of the bruising he had obtained. Legolas grimaced, but said nothing.

Hugin and Hrethel eyed him with an identical, dubious look. "You aren't going to be going anywhere any time soon, Elf, so you might as well accept that. After all, hurting yourself more isn't exactly going to help the situation, is it?"

Disgruntled, Legolas glared up at them. "My friends need me. Now. Right. Now."

"Well," Hugin growled, shifting back to the darker part of the cave to avoid the pain of the firelight, "things aren't that easy. Yes, they need you now, but they simply can't have you now. Did you think that my brother and I were the only ones sent after you? Think again, Elf." He sat down close to the wall, pulling his knees up to his chin. Pain was slowly coursing its way throughout his system again, in virulent tendrils.

"Well who else is there?" Legolas snapped, bitterly, fighting down a feeling of defeat.

Hrethel shrugged, having yet to break his cold façade. "Well they aren't entirely after you. As a matter of fact, you and Helluin would be a nice bonus, but really, they only want us dead."

Legolas chewed his lower lip. Such wonderful news, his sarcastic, inner voice remarked. So if he stayed with these two, they could help him but he would be tracked indefinitely. However, if he left, they couldn't help him and he risked finding himself in serious trouble once he reached wherever it was that he had to go. Mulling over ever possible outcome, Legolas finally came to the conclusion that he was already in serious trouble anyway so it couldn't hurt to ditch these two as soon as possible. He could stow Helluin away some where else.

Feigning compliance with their advice, Legolas settled back down. Finally becoming aware of his surroundings, he shut his eyes and effectively, shut out the presence of the cave.

:0Ї0:

Unferth put his hand in the air, silently giving the signal for his men to halt and pitch camp. His dark eyes had a malicious, determined and yet excited sparkle to them as he hungrily eyed the small town edging the Long Lake: Dale, nestled beside the rebuilt parts of Esgaroth. However, the twisted lights that danced in his eyes still failed to give them dimension. His soul was a void. "You brats," he muttered under his breathing, conjuring up images of the gloating brothers in his head. "You have scoffed at me for the last time."

A solider watched the captain with a leery eye. Experience had taught him that when his captain became this way, the best thing to do was get out of dodge. But who was he to follow his own advice?

"Sir…ah, didn't our lord expressly forbid harming the ah…"brats"?"

For knowing his captain well, the soldier possessed a surprising amount of stupidity. Fortunately for the man, Unferth was oblivious to the comment.

Unferth's face twisted in a snarl, much in the way a ravenous dog would snarl at whatever unfortunate creature had stolen its bone. In the dimming light, everyone watching the man's face secretly swore by the gods that he was sporting a set of canine teeth. "I will kill you myself," he growled in a gurgled slur under his breath, eyes still transfixed on the glowing patches of town ahead.

:0Ї0:

Rothinzil lay limply on the cold floor of his cell, easily resembling a dead thing, staring at nothing. His fingers were slightly curled, digging lightly at the dirt on the floor. The shackles on his wrists and ankles were heavy, extremely heavy. In the end, he had finally succumbed to them and simply stopped moving. It hurt too much to move or think. As a matter of fact, he felt he could get used to the idea of being a mindless drone, a slave to someone else's will.

The space around him was empty now, but considerably less. He had been transitioned to a smaller, higher security cell.

The Elf blinked, one of the few signs that showed he was indeed, alive. His dull hazel eyes went dry before he blinked again and continued staring.

Images, unbidden, swept across his consciousness. He saw Helluin again and her laughing face, and blue eyes as she lightly cradled her stomach. He saw Legolas and Aragorn- Aragorn. The human had betrayed him.

He blinked again, only this time a silver tendril coursed down from the corner of his eye. A single tear.

Despite the fact that the ranger had stabbed him in the back and through the heart, the Elf still wanted to be friends with him. His heart wrenched, begging him to believe that Aragorn had another plan in mind. However, the Elf's tortured mind simply couldn't conceive how that was possible.

This was why thinking hurt and in seconds he erected a new barrier between himself and his overly active mind. Numb again, he allowed his consciousness to slip.

Unfortunately, the reprieve wasn't long and his strong Elven body pulled him back into the moment. Cursing his Elven abilities and wishing his human-half would take the guiding position, Rothinzil opened his eyes. "Legolas…" It was a half whimper, a plea for help from the first person he had ever trusted.

Legolas didn't answer and Roth's heart sank a little further into the mire of despair. Looking down one of his arms, his eyes sought the supple skin of his wrist. It was already raw and broken. Dried blood crusted around the clinging iron band. It wouldn't take much more effort to open the large vein snaking through his arm. Fear held him back as did something else –hope. Someone would come for him…

"Don't even think about it, you stupid creature," a voice erupted from the darkness above.

Roth flinched, surprised. He had not even heard the cell door open, which was saying something because after all, those doors couldn't have been oiled this past century.

The guard looked at the Elf in a way that plainly said he wanted to kick him. As a matter of fact, the ugly, burly man looked like the sort that kicked puppies and kittens for the shear enjoyment of it.

_Go ahead_, Rothinzil's morbid thoughts suggested. _I don't see anyone here to stop you._

"I am supposed to check yer condition," the man growled, shoving a lantern uncomfortably close to Roth's face as he checked the Elf's pallor before proceeding to check his shackles.

Rothinzil turned his face away from the light and the heat. He winced as the heavy manacles were yanked and pulled. It was slightly funny: this human was pulling at them more than Roth ever had. Finally satisfied, the guard grunted and he light retreated from Roth's face, everything went dark again and the floor vibrated slightly with the exiting steps of the human.

:0Ї0:

Sador had never considered himself to be a drinking man. As a matter of fact, he had not seriously gotten drunk once in his life and was more or less a lightweight when it came to any form of consumption. But those were merely annoying details, he reminded himself before downing another warmed shot of whisky. He was drinking now. And the liquid entering his system might as well have been pure alcohol, though for him under five-percent would have probably brought the desired effects.

He had locked himself in his study under the assumption that he would be indulging the more scholarly portion of his brain. Ha! He had not even cracked a single book this night. But he was sitting at his desk, so that counted for something right?

He couldn't even remember exactly why he had chosen to come within an inch of drowning himself in alcohol. There had to have been a good reason. He knew that. The Lord of Lake-town did not just binge himself out on this sort of stuff for no reason. So what was it? Was it that his wife was ignoring him and most likely possessed? Maybe it was because his career and both Lake-town and Dale were about to go to Hell in a few more days. Or, maybe it was everything combined into one dark nightmare.

Holding to that train of thought, he burned his face in his hands and thought of hitting himself. However, he couldn't exactly do that because his hands were hard pressed to stifle a gurgling hiccup and therefore could not possibly abuse his own face.

He groaned inwardly. He was so very drunk. What was one supposed to do when they had a hangover? Ah well, that wouldn't be for a while. He would deal with that when the time came.

Aula hated him. She wouldn't even look at him anymore, let alone show anymore signs of affection. He was dead to her, unless of course, if he did something to displease her. Then she would get angry and well…violent in a way he wouldn't think a woman of her small stature capable of. For instance, he was sure that she knew he had freed Legolas. If she didn't know, she was an idiot, and that he knew she wasn't.

:0Ї0:

He was getting old, Hrethel contemplated darkly as he slowed his jog to a fast walk. His breath came in swift, exasperated puffs. Well, maybe he wasn't getting old –just fat. Hugin matched his pace to his brother's. If the younger twin had been aware of his sibling's contemplations, he could easily deny them all without lying. If anything, the brothers were lithe and spry.

As soon as Legolas had returned to the bliss of sleep –or unconsciousness, the brothers had left their "lair". Yes, they had taken to calling it a lair, against Helluin's wishes. Hugin smirked inwardly. In all honestly, they didn't have the upper hand in the this situation, but somehow one felt more powerful telling himself he had just slipped out of his lair, rather than a stuffy little grotto. He had tried to explain this to Helluin once, but she had snapped at him midway through, insisting that their ego's deserved a little bruising.

Eh, he couldn't really argue. "So," Hugin probed in a whisper. "Where do you think the cur is?"

"I haven't the slightest clue. What? Do you think I watch him when I am bored?" Hrethel rolled his eyes and leveled Hugin with a berating glower. "How in Middle Earth's name should I know?"

The cur, in question, was none other than Ulfang. While they had decided that they were through following orders, the assassins had also decided Ulfang was someone who would be greatly improved upon by the removal of a few vital organs –whether it was an order or not.

"I figured it was worth a shot to ask." What was supposed to be an apologetic mutter came across as being more of a miffed retort. Hugin shrugged and passed his brother almost reckless into the dark shadows of the trees. However, experience told Hrethel that his twin's steps were anything but reckless. Hugin was smarter than he acted a lot of time.

"So what is the plan for ousting that idiot?"

Hugin paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "I thought _you_ had a plan."

Hrethel's eyes bugged and he gaped like a fish out of water. "I don't have a plan!! Why did you expect _me_ to have the plan?" The situation they now found themselves in reminded him of a saying he had heard once: that the highway to hell was paved with good intentions. He just needed to modify that a bit to say: the highway to hell is paved with good intentions and little or no planning.

"Well logically because I don't have one, and because you never asked before now, so I assumed you knew-"

Hrethel just sighed darkly. "If you weren't my brother, my _twin_ brother, I would kill you."

Hugin's eyes narrowed. "Fine then. Here's the plan. We wing it." He smiled triumphantly, as well as unconvincingly.

"Sounds clever enough." Hrethel didn't even make an effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice. As a matter of fact, he did his best to exaggerate it.

Hugin's tone matched his brother's. "Naturally. Would you expect less of me?"

The two started forward again, continuing their exchange of banter. Usually, they didn't speak this much, or in this manner, but things being as they were the brothers were almost forced to let some of their stress and fear out, or lose their composure. Besides, if they sounded stupid no one was around to hear them –or so they hoped. Chances also were that someone out this late at night didn't have good intentions –they knew that first hand.

"Do you have a plan B?" Hrethel ventured after a moment, as the lights of the town caught his gaze from between the brambles and braches.

Hugin argued that he wasn't responsible for Plan B as he had already assumed responsibility for Plan A. Therefore, it was someone else's turn. This argument continued until they had successfully made multiple plans, the last one being Plan AA. After going through the alphabet once, it was time to start doubling up the letters.

Hugin's hand subconsciously splayed out against the trunk of the tree, allowing him a brief reprieve as he braced himself against the dew soaked trunk. Moonlight cut through the trees with the power of a white-hot knife, searing him. His illness was going to claim him soon, it was trying to now.

Hrethel pretended not to notice, keeping his eyes fixated on the flickering lights ahead of them. He knew his brother was doing his best to be strong, and not become a burden. Unfortunately, he was destroying himself in the process.

Clenching his own hands to gain a hold on their own shaking, he shook his head. For a moment he thought the world was growing darker and then his vision failed him completely. Most people would have flailed in the dark, but Hrethel merely froze. It took a moment, but his heart soon started to hammer against his ribs. Sweat lined his hairline and trickled tantalizingly down his temples.

He was blind.

Remarkably, his vision returned, but it was minutes too late. Hugin was staring at him with something akin to fear straining across his face, obviously shaken. "Hrethel? Hrethel are you alright?"

"Yes, yes! I am fine!" Hrethel wearily dragged a tremulous hand across his eyes in a way that screamed: liar!

But Hugin already knew the truth. "Yes, and I'm a vampire." Sudden blindness: it had been one of the first symptoms of his illness, after he had been struggling with his health for almost a year. "You have it too. And don't lie, I know enough to tell."

Hrethel didn't say anything for a moment. His face became distant.

Hugin was about to clamp his hand on his brother's shoulder, just to let him know that he was there and ask how long he had been fighting the illness. Hrethel chose that moment to whirl around.

"Come, someone has a date with the gods, and it's out job to arrange the meeting."

**TBC…**

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**Secondly, we know this chapter wasn't very long all things considered. You guys all deserve longer ones, but if we made it any longer then things would drag out and not work out as planned at all. **(But they are already are _dragging out_ ladies!!! Yes we know! Sorry!!!!) **But hey, we gave you lots of angst in this chapter, didn't we? Lots of blood, and sorrow in one small dosage! We gave you condensed angst!!! Much stronger in flavor than the prolonged stuff at times…Okay, I am rambling. **

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	11. Aragorn's Price

_Dementia_

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Aragorn's Price

It had been three days since Hrethel and Hugin had returned back to the cave without explanation as to where they had been. Helluin had given up caring, as long as they weren't causing mischief. However, Legolas' Elven perceptiveness easily pinpointed their well masked merriment. Something had made them happy and he wasn't so sure he liked that idea at all. With their kind it couldn't possibly be anything good, but then again, they had no motive to cause him trouble right now.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't very easily deny the fact that these men –however much they grated on his nerves –had saved his life. Legolas shook his head, pulling the cloak of Hrethel tighter around his bruised, but healing, body. He hated feeling in debt to anyone –least of all people he didn't like.

Oh blessed Manwë! He was starting to think too much. Something he had learned a long time ago: over analyzing didn't help anyone, least of all the person doing it.

He had never been good at following anyone else's advice, let alone his own, and he soon found himself mulling the past events over in his mind. There were bits and pieces missing, where he was certain that he had been either unconscious, or in too much pain for coherent thought.

A long, drawn out sigh hissed through clenched teeth at the thought of his friends. The very thought of what they could be going through –the thought of them living through something worse than death, stung somewhere inside. His heart felt raw. The prince had experienced enough wounds to know how badly they stung when cleansed with various solutions, and that pain didn't even come close to how he felt inside.

Helluin came and sat silently beside him –not too close, but close enough. He wasn't Roth, not at all. However, his presence was comforting, and his Elven glow as starting to return, radiating light and illuminating the small grotto. White light reflected off the moist, dripping rocks and stalagmites. It even seemed to drip with the water.

"We are going to have to leave tonight," Hugin informed from his isolated corner towards the back. He spent a lot of time back there, Legolas noted, it was though he feared the light.

Hrethel turned around from where he had been staring out the cave entrance, his face projecting incredulity. He obviously wanted to argue with his brother, but not here. This was not the place for arguments as long as Helluin was present. He had a feeling that her nerves were grated down as far as they could go. The way she sat so still and quiet –composed, gave him the feeling that everything was only building up inside. Like a volcano, she would erupt. It was just a matter of when.

"I am going to go and scout out the area first," Hrethel insisted, turning his face back to the sunlit world beyond the cave's shadows. "We are being hunted, or have you forgotten that?" 

Helluin gave a small twitch – really a flinch, as though she had been slapped.

Hrethel pretended not to notice. Legolas' eyes narrowed uneasily as he watched her.

Hugin didn't argue with his brother. Resigning himself to Hrethel's decision, he shrugged slightly. "I'll guard here then. But you know something? We are going to have to leave here anyway. It can't get much more dangerous than it already is."

"I want to know what we are facing!" Hrethel snapped, his hand pounding against the side of the cave. The skin broke against the jagged stone and spotted with small droplets of blood. He didn't seem to notice. "Ulfang is not going to sit idly once he finds out what we have done!"

It was safe to say that they were walking dead.

:0Ї0:

If there was one thing that Derufin hated, it was embarrassment. Actually, there was not really any thing that he hated more than embarrassment besides utter and total humiliation.

Heat rose to his face, engulfing it in a full combustion of his capillaries before he had a chance to rein in his rising temper. Or well, attempt to rein it in. He was livid.

His face continued to change colors as waves of rage rippled through his system.

Stalking through the dark, cold corridors of the lower levels of the dungeons, he didn't even bother to try and appear collected before the various prisoners. They all pressed their faces to the bars, gazing at him with either trepidation or astonishment.

Someone was in trouble. Someone was going to pay.

That ranger had given him information, but he should have known it had come way too easily. Maybe he had known. No, he buried that thought. None of this was his fault. It was that ranger's.

Unferth was the one who had discovered the coughed up information to be false. It had appeared flawless and legitimate at first glance, but military experience had easily exposed it for the contrivance that it was. Reveling in his glory and the thought of gaining the upper hand, Unferth had been all too pleased to divulge all of this to Ulfang in the worst light possible.

Derufin had seen Unferth get chewed out by their lord, as well as others, but he himself had never experienced it. For the first time he found himself playing the part of the unfortunate fool fumbling into a floor-kissing bow, and pleading for another chance. Unferth had looked on, not even bothering to hide the amusement that shined from his sadistic face.

Failure. He had never failed before. Fear. He had never felt it before. Someone was going to pay dearly for making him feel these things. He couldn't reap vengeance on Ulfang (of course) and Unferth was close enough to untouchable now.

Rothinzil sat up and slowly crawled to the back of his cell as his sharp Elven ears detected the echoing noise of footsteps making their way down the hall. Shivering a little, he buried his face against his arms, no longer too proud to hide his fear. Out of sight, out of mind –he willed away his surroundings.

But the footsteps didn't stop at his cell. They stomped determinedly past, deliberate, and slow.

Daring to raise his head, the Elf hazarded to guess that Derufin was heading to Aragorn's cell. Swallowing, Rothinzil found himself wondering what on earth was going on. Aragorn had complied with them, had he not?

Confused, the Elf quietly inched his aching, emaciated body forward. The clinking of his chains echoed hollowly from the surrounding walls and he flinched back, retreating, and folding himself back into the corner. Miserable, and even more scared, he winced as he felt his heart hammering against his arms that were wrapped snugly around his chest.

A half hearted yelp sounded from the cell further down. Rothinzil's sharp Elven ears caught it, allowing it to reverberate through his head in rapid succession. "Strider!" His voice was octaves below a murmur and half choked, as though he had swallowed a mouthful of dust. The prolonged disuse had proved slightly damaging. "Strider!" he choked feverishly, willing his trembling legs to hold his weight as he dragged himself to his feet.

For the first time in days he felt the full weight of his chains pulling at his arms and ankles. Feeling anchored in place, Roth braced himself against the wall. No matter what Aragorn may have done to him, or not done, he had sworn to Legolas that he would protect the human. But he wasn't able to do that. He was worthless, falling apart. He was a failure.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, sliding down the wall. "Legolas, forgive me."

Another yelp resounded from further down the hall and Roth flinched as though he had been slapped. A throbbing started between his eyes, escalating into an exploding headache. In this damp, dark, cold place his Elven body was starting to reach its limits. The stress of Aragorn's pained cries was too much for his overtaxed system to bear. They broke upon his already tortured mind like waves on the delicate sands of a white and balmy beach.

Meanwhile, Aragorn was just as surprised as the Elf was. Though, it wasn't so much because Derufin was out for his blood. He had known that would happen. He was merely impressed with the time it took for the men to recognize false information. And here he thought it would take longer… Ah well, live and learn.

"You lied, ranger." Derufin's voice was thick, yet calm -dangerous. His dark brows came together and his lips twitched up into an alarming snarl. In a way, Aragorn could honestly say that he had scene rabid dogs that looked less vicious. A moment after this observation, his aching brain reminded him that being able to up with such an analogy was not a good sign.

"I am wounded. I mean, that would be such a breach of trust between us, wouldn't it?" his voice was hoarse, like this vocal cords were grating together. He had not spoken for days, after all, and water was not regularly measured out in this place.

Derufin's snarl became even more twisted. "Indeed." The word escaped his mouth through a set of very clenched teeth. His blood pressure was obviously unstable, as well as unnaturally high.

Aragorn's next thought was: _I am surprised someone of your kind works so hard to discover the truth, amazing_. But common sense and his scratchy throat intervened when he tried to say it. Hiding his first intentions, Aragorn coughed a little and swallowed. Honestly, he could feel his body –even at times his spirit, failing him. He was crumbling piece by piece. As weak as he was, he finally had to admit to himself that there was nothing else he could do but surrender to the situation at hand. He sent a silent, fleeting prayer that Rothinzil had not fallen to this state.

Unfortunately, he had the sinking feeling that the Elf was more than willing to die, and release his spirit from his broken body.

Aragorn was suddenly snatched from his thoughts when Derufin's heavy, clod of a boot collided with his ribcage and he was thrown into a fit of hysterical coughing. His diaphragm spasmed, and just when he thought it was over, he coughed again. Chained the way he was against the wall, there was precious little that he could do about it. Blood started in an almost imperceptible trickle down the corner of his mouth as something ruptured inside.

"I'm waiting for the truth, ranger." Derufin's voice was empty, cold and ruthless. "And I don't necessarily need you to get it. That Elf is still around."

"It…really…i-i-isn't g-going to m-matter what I s-s-say though," Aragorn spoke through a slurred voice. He was really surprised Derufin had not killed him already.

Derufin smiled, but it never reached his eyes. As a matter of fact, Aragorn didn't really think it could be called a smile. It was its own gesture –cold and foreboding. "Correct. Still, I would comply if I were you."

Aragorn sighed inwardly. He was getting so tired of this. Or was he getting tired, period? Fuzzily, he decided that he simply didn't know anymore. He didn't care enough to even _want_ to know. Relaxing against his shackles, Aragorn closed his eyes to prepare himself for the inevitable.

"What are you doing, ranger?" Derufin snarled, irritated at the lack of reaction he had received. It was no fun to take revenge out on an impassive individual.

"Waiting," Aragorn replied dryly, not even looking up, "Waiting, because I am not going to tell you a s-s-single thing."

Derufin did smile then. It was a smile that promised agonies. It was a smile that promised annihilation. It was a smile that all but promised murder. "I was hoping you would say that."

Aragorn was grateful that he was merely imagining the look on his tormentor's face, because he knew that literally seeing it would shatter his resolve.

:0Ї0:

Rothinzil had stopped shaking. His eyes were focused, fixated. A water droplet made its winding way down the wet wall, gradually weaving around the slime and other sticky growths. Hazel eyes followed it with tedious accuracy.

The Elf drew a deep breath and held it. Then he continued with his fixation. He exhaled.

Moments later, another scream ruptured the eerie silence and Rothinzil flinched hard, sinking his teeth into his lower lip enough to draw blood. The copper flavored liquid trickled into his mouth and outlined his teeth with crimson. But the self-inflicted wound went unnoticed.

Why would anyone watch a water droplet that closely? Like their life depends on it? Well, because as far as Rothinzil was concerned, his life did depend on it. Maybe not literally, but as long as he had something else to concentrate on then he could drown out all else that he didn't want to believe existed. Like the cell, for instance, the screams…and the pain -especially the pain. Oh, and he couldn't forget the fear.

But maybe those weren't the things that he really wanted to drown out.

Maybe all he really wanted to forget was his failure. But no matter how far he willed his concentration to take him, the growing, pained screams always sucked him back. His concentration shattered every time, even if his face never changed. He was consistently reminded that he was helpless, and because of his helplessness, someone else was helpless.

_You failed_.

Roth's eyes clouded.

_Not only that, you are **failing**_.

A tear rolled down his cheek.

_You're an idiot, too. _

He should have never mistrusted Aragorn. The human had not betrayed him. He knew that now. Aragorn would not be screaming in agony if he had complied with these people. They wouldn't have reason to harm him. They would have executed him. He wouldn't be taking up their time, space, and energy if he wasn't essential anymore.

Mulling this over in his mind, Rothinzil blinked, purposefully breaking the hypnotism of the water droplet. A small sort of warm feeling seemed to beat with his blood, and his hands involuntarily clenched in resolve. Suddenly, breathing itself seemed easier. He had almost forgotten what hope felt like. It was only a spark, but it was enough to banish his suicidal thoughts far from his mind. Aragorn was alive. Aragorn was needed. These people didn't have what they wanted.

:0Ї0:

Aragorn was having similar thoughts, but it was becoming increasingly harder to focus on them. As a matter of fact, he had discarded the mere idea of trying to focus a long time ago. It was beyond feasible, especially with all these multicolored dots floating before his vision. His blood felt like it was boiling…a sign he was losing far too much of it.

Derufin's heavy breathing and rustic, throaty laughter continued through his haze. Honestly, Aragorn felt like he was wrapped in blankets of warm clouds. Idly, the back of his mind thought Derufin should vent more often –because when he let out pent up anger, he let it out with an obliterating cruelty.

He had started with merely finding the most painful of combinations for his first to meet Aragorn's flesh, or his boots to smash against his body, but things had quickly escalated. They were bound to from the beginning. Soon, he had taken some chain from the corner, where someone had discarded it, and used to repeatedly strike Aragorn in his already beyond-tender ribs. This had elicited a scream or two from the overly exhausted ranger almost immediately. Aragorn knew that felt just about as bad as he looked –worse, perhaps.

He wondered what trouble Rothinzil was in now. Surely, the Elf couldn't bear anymore abuse. His overly soft heart was melting away, killing him from the inside out. Elves could die of broken hearts. They didn't even have to physically harm the warrior anymore. Aragorn knew that if he died, then chances were that Rothiznil would leave this world as well. He was much like Legolas that way. Honestly, that princeling had really rubbed off on him. Just what we all need, he thought sarcastically, another stubborn, pious Elf.

The ranger's thoughts were shattered when Derufin decided that the bruise on Aragorn's right cheek needed to be a shade darker in order to match the bruise on his left. The man's fist connected squarely with its mark and Aragorn's skull smacked against stone. A soft, but still sickening _crack _reverberated through the room.

This was all that Aragorn's wavering, fickle consciousness could bear. It went under, sucking Aragorn down with it.

Derufin gawked angrily as the ranger slumped into his bonds and his head fell onto his chest. If Derufin's bulging muscles and clothes were splattered with sweat and blood, it was nothing compared to Aragorn's bare skin –which sported old torture marks alongside angry black and blue blotches. Panting with the exertion he had put forth, Derufin turned his back on the human. A sadistic, and clearly enraged, grin spilled across his face, pulling back his lips to reveal his neglected teeth.

Exiting the cell, he returned shortly. However, he didn't return alone.

Rothinzil hit the floor hard, staying there, too confused and scared to move. He wanted to, but he couldn't. Wide Hazel eyes stared unseeingly at the dirty stone an inch away from his nose. He shoulders unnoticeably shivered.

:0Ї0:

One, two, three, four…five, five idiots, Hrethel calculated silently, these idiots being Ulfang's soldiers. He wasn't overly worried. Together, five of them managed to have one full brain between them. But if there were more than five…even enough to make a brain and a half, they might have a problem on their hands. And it was most likely that Unferth was leading them. He weighed a bit heavier on the scales of intelligence, but not much. However, he weighed very heavily on the scales of cruelty and arrogance.

Hugin sighed dejectedly. "Of course they would show up here eventually." "Here" being the city of Dale. Unferth had brought his forces down from the hills to mix with the people of Dale. Thank the Valar for small favors: they stood out like black on white. "We should be able to elude these guys."

"_Should_," Hrethel recited skeptically back. His look and tone left no room for imagination about his opinion. He was beyond incredulity. He was downright pessimistic, which wasn't unusual.

"We _have to_," Hugin's reply was sharp, annoyed. He didn't have time for pessimism –whether he felt it or not. This was the sort of situation that was going to take some faith to fight through.

Hrethel understood his brother's thoughts. As twins they were practically connected by in invisible cord. However, despite his empathy towards his brother, he couldn't help but feel obligated to keep Hugin from getting ahead of himself. He couldn't allow arrogance to form. Level heads meant everything.

Hugin silently bemoaned Hrethel's skeptical nature. Sure, it had served them well in the past, but he had thought that they were leaving the past behind. He had thought that they were starting over. Apparently Hrethel wasn't quite ready.

"Alright, we will try to elude them, but we take all precautions, no matter how painstaking they are," the elder twin ground out, frustrated. He huffed silently, obviously swallowing back his mounting discontent with the situation. He would make himself sick rather than say what he thought.

Hugin smiled slightly at his brother's consent to proceed. "Alright, I will go back and get Helluin and Legolas."

"Not so fast, we have no idea where Unferth is." Hrethel's fingers snagged his brother's tunic, pulling him closer, and nearly tearing the fabric with the earnest strength of his grip. "The last thing we need to is to separate and let him catch one of us alone."

Hugin dared to smirk. "Brother, your concern is touching but-"

"Oh don't get cocky with me, you idiot!" Hrethel snarled in retort, unwilling to hide his disconcertion any longer. His eyes were narrowed into fiery little slits of grey flame. "Unferth is capable of more than he looks. He's an absolute fool, but a dangerous one. Since when are you so rash you thrust your own safety aside?" He looked as though he wanted to strike his brother, and he probably would have, but he felt the world around him growing hazy. Sounds were fading out. Another blind spell. Instead of striking his brother, he fell against him. Hrethel's fingers clutched at the fabric of Hugin's tunic.

Hugin had to fight the urge to pull away. His deteriorating body didn't like to suffer physical contact anymore. It couldn't. Bruises easily appeared and even if they didn't, they still formed below in the deeper layers of his flesh.

"I'm sorry," Hrethel murmured almost too softly for Hugin to hear.

"So am I, brother, so am I."

Moments later, only when Hrethel's site returned, they broke the embrace. "I'm going back for them," Hugin announced quietly, in a whisper. "You stay here and keep an eye on those fools. As you said, we need to know where our enemies are."

Too tired from the blind spell and energy-sucking dizziness, Hrethel merely nodded. His face was ghastly pale and clammy. Even his lips looked like death. Though they were twins, Hrethel resembled Hugin now more than he had for the past few years. It was sort of fitting that the identical brothers should suffer from the identical illness. "How long have you had it?"

"Since you have."

Hugin was taken aback.

Silence, then, "That long?"

Hrehtel smiled tensely. "I didn't want to worry you. I needed to protect you. Years or minutes younger, it matters not, you're my little brother."

_How long did you know _I _was ill? How long was I so obvious, while you hid your illness with everything you had, simply to protect me? _Touched but unwilling to admit it, Hugin had to blink rapidly to dispel any tears that might have otherwise blurred his vision. Clasping hands with his brother in a strong shake of camaraderie and loyalty, he gave a sharp nod. "I'll be back soon."

Their hands slid apart, almost in slow motion, and then Hugin turned his back on his brother. Soon he had disappeared from view.

**TBC…**

**Yeah, a bit of a cliffy in this chapter. Lol But there was also more Aragon angst for those of you who wanted it. We are getting a bit more time lately, and the ideas are also flowing easier. Although, we are going to kind of have to accept that this story might not get finished with the same complexity that we thought it would, but we are REALLY trying. **

**Thanks for all the encouraging reviews. Please, don't stop. We love them all soooo very much!!!!**

**Also, no, the brothers are not vampires. Sorry if the sarcasm in there confused anyone. It was meant as one of their twisted versions of a joke. **

**And now I am off to finish up a commissioned artwork, drink some tea and read a book. Dr. Zhivago is turning out to be very good -very complicated, mind you, but very good. Not that you guys really care, but still. **


	12. A Talking Raven?

_Dementia_

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

A Talking Raven?

Rothinzil stared worriedly at Aragorn, looking remarkably like a child that was trying not to cry. If Aragorn had been bad before, he looked a thousand times worse now. And to scare the Elf even more, the human wasn't stirring at all. Roth had called his name countless times already, using every tone, bribe and plea he could think of, but the ranger remained unresponsive. The cell was just as lonely as when he had been by himself. Aragorn might as well be –no, no he wasn't going to even _think_ about that.

Taking in the fresh, bloodied wounds all over the younger being's body, Rothinzil felt waves of bile and nausea rile up in his stomach. Derufin had left him with Aragorn's unconscious form, parting with the words, "I hope you like what you see, because you're next." At one point in his life, Roth would have gone to any length to deny his fear. At one point in his life he would have put a brave face on things no matter what and infuriated his captor with his stubbornness and Elven piety. Not this time.

"Alright, I'm afraid," he said allowed into the dark. "I'm scared," he continued to mutter, feeling only slightly better as he let his thoughts off his chest. "I'm scared and I really wish I was safe at home." Nothing but quiet greeted his ears and he pulled himself up into a ball at Aragorn's side. His heart thumped wildly against his chest, before rushing up to fill his throat. _Please, Legolas, please, please come save us._

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Rothinzil cringed. Maybe if he pretended he was unconscious…

A key screeched as it was thrust into the rusty lock.

Roth couldn't think. He was a warrior, meant to last under stress, but he had clearly reached his limits. His mind was drawing on a blank.

Derufin was back. Stepping into the small, dim room, he scanned it, zeroing in on the Elf huddled against the human as though his life depended on it. "Have you thought about things, Elf? You may look stupid, but I know you aren't." Normally Roth would have felt insulted, but he obviously had other things to think about.

At this point Aragorn stirred. Rothinzil flinched inwardly at the thought of the pain the ranger's consciousness must have brought.

The first thing Aragorn noticed was the blinding, mind consuming pain. However, forcing himself to work past that, the second thing he noticed was much more alarming. He could feel Roth next to him, and he didn't have to look to know that Rothinzil was losing what control he had left. He was shivering without restraint, clearly torn between the hope of a painless death and the prospect of more agonies. Aragorn wished he could say that he was surprised, but he wasn't. Rothinzil was the most honest creature he had ever met, and hiding something, even something like fear, drained too much of his energy. But, while most people would have taken this to be a sign of cowardice, Aragorn knew better. Bravery wasn't the absence of fear. Only stupid beings weren't afraid. Bravery was working through that fear. He didn't have to watch what was happening to know that Roth was going to choose the road less traveled by.

"You'll learn nothing from me. Human, this conversation is growing repetitive -a-a-and tedious," he added for good measure. His words were bold, but he sounded anything but sure of himself. It almost sounded as though he was reading off a paper. It lacked authenticity.

Derufin didn't need to read too much into Roth's voice to know that the Elf was bluffing. Grabbing Rothinzil by the shackles around his wrists, he wrenched the Elf to his feet. The emaciated warrior almost dangled in his grip. Putting their faces inches apart, he smiled cruelly. "You. Aren't. Going. To. Last. This. Time." Each word was a sentence.

Roth opened his mouth as though to protest, then thought better of it and gulped.

"You're going to beg in a few minutes Elf, and I'm not going to listen," Derufin continued to inform his prisoner as he attached Roth's manacles to the wall, so that the immortal was forced to stand. "You know why I am not going to listen?" He stroked Roth's cheek taunting, before slapping his face harshly to the side. "Because you and that ranger humiliated me."

Rothinzil's mouth went dry. Derufin showed the Elf his back. "You made me look like a fool in front of my superiors, and I don't like that."

Aragorn raised his head at that. Choking on pain and some blood, he gasped desperately, "h-h-he h-had nothing t-t-to do with t-t-that!"

Rothinzil made an attempt to glower at Aragorn, but the look seemed more appreciative and frightened than stern, or commanding. But Aragorn knew what the Elf meant.

Derufin didn't seem fazed by the ranger's comment. Turning back around, he allowed his eyes to follow the Elf's normally flawless form, deciding where he should start. Choosing on a place, he suddenly drilled Rothinzil with his fist. The Elf yelped as the pain of old injuries rekindled. More blows fell in rapid succession, usually connecting with his already damaged ribs, but sometimes connecting with his face. Roth was startled to find himself squirming in the chains that held him, simply looking for an escape from the pain.

Suddenly the pounding fists ceased to drum on his body. Cautiously opening one eye, the Elf was surprised to see his tormentor holding a small, corked vial in his hands. An unnaturally colored liquid swirled on the inside.

-Truth serum.

:0Ї0:

It had not been an overly hard task to get Helluin and Legolas out of the cave and making steady, fast progress towards Hrethel and their agreed meeting place. As a matter of fact, if they had been physically capable, he knew that they would be out-striding him very quickly. However, Helluin's swelled stomach was unwieldy, even though her movements bore a surprising amount of stamina and grace. Legolas' head was giving him fits as it screamed in dehydration, pain, and generally an emotional overload. All of his mental circuits were simply smoldering with over-use.

Helluin stumbled, saved from a hard fall only by the Elf's outstretched arm. Legolas winced slightly as her weight bore down on his aching, feverish muscles. Thankful she didn't seem to notice his body's blatant protest, Legolas steadied and righted her. He needed to be strong for her, just like Rothinzil would. She needed someone reliable right now, and he wasn't going to let that someone be an assassin that wasn't even entirely trustable. Call it pride, but he didn't want Rothinzil to find out that these outsiders were more helpful than he had been.

He was Rothinzil's prince. He was Rothinzil's older brother figure. He was supposed to have the other Elf's back, not matter what.

Flinching inwardly as he walked (keeping an eye on Helluin), Legolas realized just how badly he didn't want to confront a second failure. All this time that he was working to try and get Aragorn to safety and he really didn't want to meet the human. He didn't want to look him in the eyes. He didn't want to see his wounds.

Diligently following his own morbid train of thought, he had not even noticed they had stopped until he found his face nearly buried in Helluin's long, flaming hair. Blinking in surprise as he struggled to refocus his thoughts, Legolas tried to make sense of what was happening.

Hugin was pale –well, paler than normal. His lips had lost color and his eyes were large, and dilated. The way his shoulders seemed to tighten and the rest of him remained rigid, Legolas was sure that the assassin wasn't breathing. Had he forgotten how? Although Legolas was loath to admit it, he knew the man wasn't that stupid. Something was wrong. Why was he surprised anymore by this?

"Hrethel," Hugin hissed, low and desperate. This was where they had parted.

Whirling around, he gave the place one last, well assessed look with his sharp eyes –the eyes that had shot someone in the eye from yards away. His heart sank in his chest, hammering. There was no doubt about it: Hrethel wasn't here.

Legolas just put a reassuring hand on Helluin's shoulder, giving it a heartening squeeze. She coldly shrugged it off, too nervous to appreciate any form of comfort. Legolas didn't protest. He could understand her perspective very easily.

"He should be here," Hugin growled, allowing his fear and frustration to give way to anger.

Legolas' concerned scowl turned into an intolerant glower. "Well then why isn't he?" Understandably, his patience was wearing extremely thin. It was almost nonexistent.

Hugin glared at the Elf, silently asking who he thought he was. The assassin resisted the urge to sink his fingers into Legolas' throat and slam him up against the nearest tree.

Legolas didn't need his heightened Elven senses to know that he had made an insensitive mistake. Friends, enemies, or at a truce, he shouldn't have said what he had said. It wasn't the wrong thing to say, but it wasn't the exactly the right thing either. And he had a sinking suspicion that it wasn't so much what he had said, but how he had said it.

Before five minutes had passed, Hugin seemed to have shrugged everything off. He was an assassin, and that meant that he was mind over matter –or emotions. At least, that was the ideal mind set to have in his profession, but ideal things hardly ever work out. He was definitely still susceptible to heart ache, otherwise he wouldn't be forced to go into a state of deprivation. Numbness was a choice, and all choices had reasons.

"We're being watched." Legolas' words were soft, barely an octave above a whisper.

When Hugin glanced at the Elf, all cockiness had left the immortal prince. He was as rigid as a cold, fresh bow string –prepared for anything, or at least trying to be. His physical condition was still debilitating, even if he was healing more quickly than many that had ever suffered as much damage.

"How can you be so sure?" the man queried, silently forming the question with his lips.

Legolas' eyes narrowed almost condescendingly. "I'm an Elf, remember?" _Humans, always forgetful._

Hugin looked annoyed, almost jealous. "Elves would make excellent assassins."

Legolas wrinkled his nose, repulsed by the thought. He couldn't deny that some of his people would make excellent assassins –and probably enjoy their job, but for the majority of them it seemed so unlikely that the notion alone was surreal. Letting the matter slide for now, Legolas poured all the concentration he could muster into pin-pointing their stalkers.

From the way Hugin's body had tensed, coupled with his narrowed eyes, Legolas could guess that the assassin was doing the same. Frowning inwardly, as he caught himself being appreciative rather than condescending or disapproving, Legolas chided himself for going soft. Although, he thought as he inwardly defended himself against his thoughts, it wasn't as though he didn't have good reasons. Being thrown around, beaten, kidnapped, and being responsible for the harm and possible death of friends would soften up anybody.

Curses! Was he becoming vulnerable?

Suddenly he realized something. It wasn't any human being, Elf, or Dwarf, who was watching them. It was a black, calculating bird. Legolas snorted inwardly. All along he had almost suspected the trees. Well a bird seemed a bit more logical than the trees, but Legolas still had a feeling that Hugin was going to think he had lost the straggling remains of his sanity. The man didn't seem to understand Elves very well, so Legolas doubted he would be aware of their bond with nature.

The bird cocked its head and scrapped its bill on a branch, either annoyed or impatient, -or both.

Hugin followed Legolas' gaze, secretly believing the chances of an Elf discovering something were better than his own. _Wonderful,_ he thought dryly_not only am I missing my brother, and dying, but I am having self esteem issues._

At first he couldn't place what it was the Elf was so intent on, but eventually –after struggling with some disbelief, he realized it was, in fact, the _bird_. "Incredulous" was the friendly way to describe his look and thoughts. "A bird?"

Legolas looked over his shoulder at the man, glaring. It didn't take a genius to discern the scorn and blatant sarcasm in the human's words. "Yes, believe it or not." Despite the fact that he was too desperate to feel embarrassed, Legolas felt he owed the gawking mortal at least half of an explanation. "Elves are more closely attuned to nature than humans; therefore, we have a relationship with the creatures. This bird definitely has seen something, or wants to speak with us."

Hugin glowered scathingly at the prince. "How hard _did_ they hit you on the head?"

"I'm not jesting!" Legolas spat back, short tempered enough was it was. Most people might have flushed an angry red, but it seemed Legolas' blood-loss was inhibiting the reaction. This proved that there was something good about everything.

Hugin was about the make the retort that Legolas' seriousness was the very reason he was worried, but Helluin interrupted.

While it was true that both Legolas and Hugin were on edge and ill tempered, their anger and frustration were nothing compared to those of the pregnant, frightened, tired woman. Helluin knew that Legolas was sane (and she privately believed his head was too hard to suffer any severe damage from inflicted blows), and there was no time for him to have to prove himself to someone that she still didn't quite trust. "I believe Legolas," she growled through clenched teeth. "This situation can't get any stranger, even if there is a talking, spying bird!"

Legolas sneaked an approving, grateful look. Clearing his throat, he stared back up at the black, small mass of feathers. The bird wasn't leaving, and if anything, its expression was becoming more impatient. Legolas opted to go ahead and try conversing with it, before it lost all patience and pecked out his eyes or inflicted whatever pain a raven was capable of.

Hugin watched in hidden awe, while outwardly maintaining a façade of complete contempt.

Legolas' Sindarin caused the bird to cock its head to the side. It fluttered, and skipped down a branch lower. Following the length of its new perch, it fearlessly put itself before Legolas' face. "I'm glad you finally decided to listen, foolish, young Elf." Its Common was unmistakable and concise while being throaty.

Legolas' expression registered surprise, then annoyance. The stupid wad of feathers sounded like Aragorn all over again. The amount of surprise coursing through Hugin would have been enough to send a normal human's jaw to his feet in a sloppy, gawking expression. However, assassins were never surprised. They were above that, weren't they? Secretly, Hugin knew better, but old habits died hard.

Helluin seemed unmoved by this entire turn of events. She had grown up in Laketown, and the sight of a talking raven was not a new concept to her. The bird seemed to sense this and he cocked his head at her, flashing his beady little, black eyes. They were bright with intelligence that was uncommon among birds. "Lady Helluin?"

The red-haired woman smiled stiffly. "Speak, bird. My patience is thin." It did, indeed, sound like she was using every last bit of it to rein in her churning emotions.

The bird didn't seem surprised. It was a startlingly perceptive creature. "Understandably. Time is thin." He ruffled his feathers nervously, as a bird will do when the air is cold. Before she could chide him a second time, he started with his tale. "You are going to have to leave your brother behind," he glanced pointedly at Hugin.

"Why?" Hugin demanded angrily, crossing his arms. He was ready to wring some little, scrawny bird-neck.

The bird wasn't even fazed. "They captured him. He lost control of his senses and some of your enemies found him." The small creature's voice dipped with gravity.

Hugin's face was ashen. His brother had gone blind again. No one had been there for him. Those people could have leaded him on a string and he would have had no choice but to follow. Or what if they had claimed leverage over him? Like having prisoners that they didn't, for instance… "He's captured?"

The bird nodded sorrowfully. "They hope to catch you, the lady, and Prince Legolas as well."

Legolas couldn't help the stab of annoyance that pricked him when he realized that the bird knew exactly who he was.

"Hope to kill us, you mean." His words were soft, almost despairing. The situation was obvious. Hrethel had been captured as bait.

The bird didn't deny anything. As a matter of fact, his look became more pitying. That was just what they needed: a lamenting bird.

Hugin sighed, his frustration bordered on being tangible. The air was electrified with it. Scrubbing a hand through his black, unkempt locks, he shook his head. How could this happen? HOW? Only the gods knew what they were doing to his brother right now. Oh, Valar have mercy! What if Hrethel was still blind? What if he was in pain?

All too suddenly he was forced to appreciate Legolas' and Helluin's positions a little better. They were dealing with the loss of loved ones –people near their hearts. They were helpless to know what was happening to those people. Not only that, but they were more than aware of what _probably_ had happened.

Hugin thought he was going to vomit. Trees started merging, and swirling around him and a buzzing sound rang in his ears. His body couldn't compete between his illness and his shock, as well as his mounting emotions. Bile rose in the back of his throat, swelling into his mouth with a bitter, revolting tang.

_He wasn't going to vomit. He wasn't going to vomit. He wasn't going to –Oh yes, he **was**. _

Legolas turned away, quelling his own stomach as he heard Hugin's relieving itself. Helluin watched, unmoved by the repulsive display. Her blue, Safire like eyes, blinked before she hardened her face into a determined, impatient glower.

_It was just vomit, you fool._ The voice in Legolas' head was relentless. Humiliation thudded through his body. _Even Helluin could stand it. _

Legolas finally made peace with the voice by reminding it that she had to deal with morning sickness every morning. What was a little more vomit splashing around?

The bird watched the events with the utmost indifference. It probably ate stuff like this, Legolas reflected morbidly. Turning his attention to Hugin, whose hand was clawing at a tree for support, he ventured, "Are you going to be alright?" he growled impatiently.

Hugin glared at him. "I'm fine."

The bird, Helluin, and Legolas shared incredulous glances.

Annoyed, in pain, and secretly frightened out of his mind, Hugin turned his back on the others. He couldn't stand their doubting faces. "Did you see where they took him, bird?" he muttered crossly over his shoulder.

The raven cocked its head to the side, and eyed a bug crawling along the branch between its feet before answering. "I did not." His precise bill snapped up the insect in one deft move, and in one swallow the bug disappeared. The black-feathered creature looked hungrily for more.

"Some help you are."

Feathers ruffled, agitated. "I didn't even have to talk to you," the avian retorted, its throaty croak brimming with contempt. It was obvious what he thought of humans. Descended from ravens that typically were friendly with people, he merely felt obligated to help and thus uphold his bird-lineage.

Understanding the importance of time, Legolas vocally assessed the situation, trying to gather everyone's concentration. "So your brother is kidnapped –as bait. We have no idea where he is, or for that matter, what his condition is." He glanced at the raven, sharp blue eyes nearly skewering the creature. "What did his captors look like?" They needed more to work with. They didn't have time to base their motives on assumptions.

"Black-haired, burly men. Six of them." The bird stretched out his wings, obviously warming them up in the filtered sunshine before flight. His work was complete. Not willing to stay for further reference, the bird disappeared among the branches.

Hugin nodded in understanding, and everyone noted that his usually emotionless face was still sickly pale, even if he was no longer leaning on a tree. "That would be Unferth, and his merry men. This just keeps getting better, and better."

Legolas' exasperated look sported agreement. Helluin seemed tense. "Who is Unferth?" she ventured quietly after a minute, almost speaking to herself.

Hugin smiled maliciously at the thought of the other man, as though he was imaging his hands enclosed around the captain's neck while the man's face turned colors. "Unferth is a captain, somehow favored by my lord Ulfang. He's wicked, surly, and intolerable."

"Is he the man who took Roth away?" The woman almost sounded like a little lost girl. Her voice was choked by suppressed tears. She didn't like to show emotion often, but in his instance it could hardly be helped.

Hugin's expression softened ever so slightly and Legolas looked away from them both. "Yes, it was he who captured him…and interrogated him." Deciding that this conversation was hitting too close to home for comfort, he shook his head and sought a change in topic. "We've just got to think things through."

**TBC…**

**Alright, we know this is another short chapter. Sorry. But school, as we say all the time, is time consuming. **

**Thanks for all the reviews! They are wonderful and we seriously appreciate each and every one even if we can't respond to them. But this is a promise: even if we can't respond to any other reviews, we will respond to any reviews we get for the final chapter of this story –which will be posted soon, hopefully. **

**Oh, and here is a quick note: For any of you who do have us on author alert, if you get fan fics from other fandoms, don't worry. Those are fleeting, rare things. This story still has top priority. lol **

**Don't forget to drop us a review!!! Thanks and later everyone!!!! **


	13. Don't Fear the Reaper

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

_Dementia_

Don't Fear the Reaper

Veoda had not often ventured to possess people, despite the fact that it was great fun. There were several reasons for depriving herself of this pleasantry.

First of all, it would attract the attention of Manwe. He wouldn't appreciate a loosed, vengeful spirit drifting freely around Middle-Earth as though it was a market-place. The last thing that she needed was some of his imperial messengers sent to apprehend her. She already had experienced the foul luck of having to escape them twice.

Secondly, humans were so frail that it seemed sort of pointless to inhabit one only to have to continuously move to another. She knew first hand how easy it was to die.

Lastly, it was freedom to have no ties. She was tied to her revenge and her brother: nothing else. Even her fiancé held no importance to her after she had died.

Which is why she was frustrated. This woman she was residing in wasn't weak, or easily manipulated. As a matter of fact, she reminded Veoda much of how she had been before her death. She had been strong. She had been a fighter. However, she had died, and this woman –or well, this woman's spirit at any rate, insisted on living. Veoda was being forced to transfer more and more energy into confining this lady's soul and it was exhausting. Her shields were starting to crack and every now and again this woman – Aüla, would make her own decisions. Tendrils of her freewill would seep free.

People were starting to notice –in particular, her husband. Sador was no fool, as his elected position easily validated. He had known the Aüla that had breathed and existed beforehand, and she was vastly different the woman that stalked the house now.

Aüla didn't eat anymore. She was a rake, if even that. Veoda was a spirit, and the thought of food often slipped her mind like water through a sieve.

Aüla rarely slept, and when she did, it was uneasy. Sleeping were times when Veoda got bored. Veoda's energy-contrived body didn't need rest or regeneration.

Aüla wouldn't even look at Sador anymore. It was almost as though he was invisible, unless she wanted to ask a favor of his power. Veoda hated Sador. He wasn't an Easterling, and she would never hold a relationship with someone who was not of their blood. She had sought out Ulrad, and seduced him.

But now he was dead, she remembered, seething. Those little pukes –Hrethel and Hugin, had killed him.

But the most notable difference was Aüla's eyes. Once large and beautiful with love and innocence, they were now flat –like buttons in a puppet's face.

The only thing that Sador didn't know is that this had been going on for years. Aüla had been stalked as a candidate for possession since her marriage to him, and on the night of their consummation she had been possessed. Of course, Veoda wasn't one to show herself right away, and let Aüla run her own life for a little while longer.

Aüla had been unable to become pregnant. Veoda had not allowed it. Children would only complicate an already difficult situation and Veoda was more than accustomed to murder.

And now she was going to kill again.

Sador had become useless, although she had hoped that he wouldn't. She didn't fear being caught and held responsible for his death. If worst came to worst, then she could easily escape herself and let Aüla take the blame all on her own. However, she didn't want to have to deal with all of this. It cut down her plan and cut into her way.

Silently commanding Aüla, she coerced the woman into selecting a poison-filled vile from the cabinet in the library. It was the type of venom that killed instantly, and with little evidence. The victim's heart would simply stop beating.

:0Ї0:

Hrethel was one of those people that hated others as a rule. People had to earn his love, instead of the other way around. Right now he was doing nothing less than following his own rules. He hated Unferth…and "hate" was an awfully nice word. He had made sure Unferth had known this too.

He couldn't believe things had gone so horribly wrong, or at least, he couldn't at first. After thinking about it for a while (since he had nothing better to do), he realized that he should have seen this coming. He and Hugin had been cursed with horrible luck since conception, he was sure.

"So where is your cur of a brother?" Unferth snarled impatiently, glaring down at his captive.

Hrethel didn't even pretend to show an interest. "Do I look like his keeper? We weren't born attached at the hip, you know." His voice was like an instructor's who was trying to teach a slow child –a _very_ slow child. Yet, somehow, it still sounded aloof and disinterested.

Unferth ground his teeth –another one of his horrible habits. Oh well, there were worse habits that he could be using, such as his blood-lust. "You really are more trouble than you are worth."

Hrethel snorted quietly. He didn't feel like replying. After all, his obligations to talk to this man were none.

Instead he focused his mind elsewhere. Reminiscing about his capture, he felt a deep flush burning in his cheeks. He had been so weak, vulnerable, and generally an easy catch. Another wave of sickness had engulfed him, taking away his vision and causing the entire world to fade out once more. He had not even heard Unferth's men coming –which was saying something, because he knew that they tramped like oliphaunts.

The fact that he was still alive told him two things: that he was needed alive, and that Unferth wasn't allowed to touch him.

_Comforting thoughts…_

Deciding to focus less on himself and more on his brother, Hrethel pondered his captor's question. What had become of his twin and their…charges? Growling inwardly, he hoped that Hugin had the common sense to steer clear of this place –wherever this place was, and not take the baited trap that Unferth had set. Unfortunately, he had the sinking suspicion that his brother was just that stupid.

Mentally reversing the situation, he didn't have to think twice to recognize he was equally stupid. He would never leave his brother in the hands of this treacherous, pathetic excuse for a sociopath.

Unferth glared at his captive, struggling to suppress the anger prickling his heart. He felt like a child that had just received the best Yule-tide gift conceivable and wasn't permitted to play with it. "Not going to try to escape?" he taunted, digging his toe harshly into Hrethel's side.

"If I didn't know better, I would say you didn't want me to…but you do, don't you? You at least want me to try," he accused flatly, betraying none of the frustration boiling inside.

Unferth seemed unperturbed by the suggestion, but Hrethel had him figured inside and out. When Unferth's fingers twitched almost imperceptibly at the man's side, Hrethel knew that he was seething. "I don't know what you mean."

"Liar."

Unferth smiled callously. "Even tied up at my feet you can't stop insulting me, can you?"

"Not easily," Hrethel admitted, consciously trying to sound as bored as possible. "Old habit and all of that..."

His captive's teeth ground so hard that Hrethel expected to see sparks leaping from the man's jaws. With an inward, morbid snicker, he wondered how amusing it would be to watch if Unferth broke his own jaw.

:0Ї0:

Orcs were ugly. Orcs were brutal. Orcs stank. They ate dead things. However, despite all this, their specialty was mischievousness and strategy –and these creatures conspiring now were no exceptions. Dol Guldur didn't look any busier than was usual considering the undertaking it was about to make.

The Necromancer was not happy, not in the least. In turn, this made his orcs _very_ unhappy.

He had known Ulfang didn't appreciate being under his thumb, he had expected some sort of rebellion. However, he had not expected things to take the proportions that they had –even if those proportions were still rather small, all things considered. He had to stop things before they truly began.

The man had been capturing Elves, desperately ripping them apart for information. This had been according to their bargain. However, Ulfang had cut off communication and all updated information concerning the progress of his interrogations. This refusal to share information was an indirect refusal to acknowledge the Necromancer as his lord. He was going to attempt to break away.

The orcs had been given clear orders: attack Ulfang's stronghold, get the Elven prisoner, kill Ulfang and all who got in their way. Although these orders were simple, the Necromancer had no doubt his slaves would botch it. They were incapable of perfectly completing a single assignment these days, not like the old times.

Sometimes he thought that breeding certain types of orcs should be equated with breeding stupidity.

:0Ї0:

Aragorn and Rothinzil had found out rather quickly that this was not average truth serum. In fact, it was partial to the climate they were in, namely because of availability. The supplier of this serum was not a typical, grimy, old peddler. As a matter of fact, it wasn't even necessary to purchase the serum. Snakes that inhabited only this part of the Middle Earth were the creators. It developed naturally in their venom sacs and was primarily a means of undermining their prey's strength. Once injected, the unfortunate creature would struggle until it lost control of its neural functions –including movement of its muscles. Everything would become involuntary and its desperate bid for survival would prompt it to attempt almost anything that seemed promising of a second chance.

These snakes, however, were rather uncommon and they didn't die easily. Intelligent creatures, they had more than a few tricks up their ..._scales_. One would probably expect humans to die trying to collect the venom, but this was untrue. A snake that bit a man drained itself of its valuable serum and therefore became useless. The snake had to be caught unawares in order that his venom sac was full.

Derufin had seen a man that had been bitten by one of these creatures, though. He had not looked too different from the way the Elf looked now.

Rothinzil's face was colorless. His mouth was gapping as he desperately gulped in air. He looked like a fish sticking to the side of a bank, being tortured by the open air.

Rothinzil could feel his heart's beats slowing, despite his fear and the adrenaline.

_I am dying!_

His eyes started to flutter lazily, struggling to remain open and seeing. Sluggishly clenching fingers accompanied languidly breathing lungs.

Roth was surprised the find that terror was not his first and foremost feeling. Relief danced in the front of his thoughts –relief with regret. He was relieved that he no longer had to be strong, he could fade away. However, he regretted never seeing Helluin and Legolas again. He regretted never being able to see his first child. He regretted leaving Aragorn alone in this place.

His eyes finally closed and he found that he couldn't will them to open again. His heart slowed further, until it was only a whisper of a beat.

Aragorn was only groggily aware of the events around him, but when he saw the Elf's glassed over eyes slide shut his inner voice screamed in despair.

Derufin had been smiling earlier, but that smile had been exchanged for a dismayed look of alarm. He had wanted to torment the Elf, yes. He had wanted to force to creature to relinquish Mirkwood's secrets, yes. But he had not wanted the …thing, to die.

Rothinzil's chest had stopped. The Elf's lips were parted slightly, pale and dry. A peaceful, almost half-smile tugged loosely at their corners.

He was dead.

Ulfang was going to be livid.

Aragorn was devastated.

**TBC….**

**Alright, this story should wrap up in a few more chapters. First of all, I want to apologize for the shortness of this chapter and the tardiness of the update. **

**Secondly, I want to thank you all for the wonderful reviews! This story has been fun to write and the reviews are so encouraging and make it even better! Please don't stop! We love them all. **

**The next update should be soon. Unfortunately, it won't be until around may because of school. Right now we are doing a play and I have to paint scenery, and then I am going to New York City for the first week of April. So busy busy busy…lol **

**The song title was inspired by HIM's, "Don't Fear the Reaper". **

**Also, sorry about confusion with the twins. They are important to the story line. Very important -symbolically, and plot wise. You'll see at the end. But yes they are twins, no they are not vampires, and the sickness is not really named because no one knows what it is. People only know the symptoms. At the end things will all tie up. That's what an ending is for, the rest is to lead you on. **

**Thanks for your patience, and please review everyone!!! **


	14. Dementia

_Dementia_

**Chapter 14**

Dementia

To say that Ulfang had been furious with Rothinzil's death could be equated with saying that apples were red. It wasn't very descriptive, despite its evident factuality. Now, to say that he was angry to the point of mutilating Derufin's corpse after a brutal execution, well, that would be a bit more accurate.

He didn't care in the least about the Elf's well being. He had planned to kill him anyway, one way or another. However, he still had needed the creature alive –or well, alive as possible.

Derufin was a moron like all his underlings, Ulfang consoled himself, that was all there was to it. He couldn't help it if he was one of about five brain trusts in the entire castle –most of which were imprisoned (people of intelligence shouldn't be free, except for him, of course).

Slouching slightly in his throne since no one was around to see and he really didn't feel like acting presentable regardless, the man silently fumed. Elves were a lot more fail than tails gave them credit for, or at least, this one was.

Now the question was: what did he do now? He needed that information, badly. He may be the king in his own land and be feared by most outside it as well, but he wasn't so stupid as to overlook the fact that there was one who had the power to utterly crush him into a dingy powder.

The Necromancer wouldn't mind sending a tenth of his force down this way to obliterate his little strong hold.

He needed that Elf, or rather, what the Elf knew. The ranger may know some information, but he couldn't possible know the intricacies of it. The knowledge the scrawny Elf-lover would possess would be enough to whet Sauron's appetite, and maybe make bargaining with the Necromancer easier, but it wouldn't be enough to get the leverage he so desired.

There was only one option left. The Elf had to be resurrected.

Of course this was supposing that he was genuinely dead. Who could tell with an Elf? They had the weirdest luck and abilities when it came to life and death. He wasn't new to the way they were sometimes capable of snatching themselves from the brink of death. It was possible, was it not, that this creature was simply in suspended animation?

Never mind, he concluded sourly, no need to create false hopes and ambitions. The warrior was deader than a gutted fish, and probably just as cold.

Hmm, gutted fish… A small, slow, diabolical smile split his face. Crooked teeth gleamed an off white behind angrily gnawed lips. Well, he knew what punishment suited Derufin. Despair and desperation often brought about his best ideas, or so _he_ thought. It had been debated before.

But, he chided himself, first things came first. He had to prioritize.

The Elf was going to have to breathe again. All else could follow.

While he often scoffed the gods, and was by no means a praying individual, he wasn't afraid to admit that this needed a miracle. While he had never heard of miracles happening to 'bad people', he figured that he had nothing to lose by asking.

With a prayer on his lips, Ulfang beseeched the gods. But, his knees never touched the ground.

:0Ї0:

Rothinzil was somewhere betwixt waking, and sleeping and…something else. When he blinked and the soft, fuzzy feeling of cushioning warmth didn't change he decided he was far too tired to combat it. Well, no, he changed his mind, not tired. He just wasn't motivated. Earlier he had been in so much pain that breathing and blinking provided a constant stab of pain.

Is this death? A wrinkled creased his pale, formerly smooth brow as he vainly tried to trace his memories to this point. Ultimately, he decided that if this wasn't death, he didn't know what was. However, it was painless, so he wasn't really complaining.

_Painless…_That word had been out of his vocabulary for so long he had almost forgotten its existence.

He reveled in the comforting silence, the hazy feeling of peace, and the warmth of the cushioning…whatever, that was supporting him. Clouds? He had no idea. But the suspension was consoling and stole all motivation for escape.

Finally, blinking and starting to feel very alone, sat up and looked blearily around. Strider? Where was he? Should he be happy that he didn't see his friend here? Or was that a bad thing? "Estel…?" His voice was soft –too soft, and the misty air quickly absorbed it. He might as well have held his silence.

Suddenly the warmth was gone and a cold feeling clutched at his stomach, crushing him with the weight of reality. He had chosen mortality as opposed to Elven eternity….what came next if his time was really, well, up? Where did mortals go when they …expired? Was choosing mortality and spurning the freely given immortality a damning sin? Would he see any of his friends again?

It was most likely that he wouldn't see Legolas ever again. He was sure the paths of Elven dead and human dead didn't cross paths –and that was supposing that Elves actually died. Thranduil, Legolas, Elrond –the twins….He had not ever supposed that the last time he saw them would literally be _the_ last.

The thought of being alone for eternity ripped at his insides like a feral animal, shredding.

Knees hugged protectively against his chest, he swallowed down bile. It still tasted bitterly of venom, he noted disgustedly.

The hazy, thick atmosphere around him increased to almost suffocating level of intensity. He could barely see his hand if he waved it in front of his face, let alone see anything for any amount of real distance. It was like being under a pile of sun-warmed blankets. Even sound was cushioned.

Resting his chin atop his knees, the young Elf closed his eyes, partially to block out his surroundings and partially because he didn't have the energy to keep them open. His sleeping habits had been worse than poor during his captivity and this place seemed to have a seductive way of lulling one into a comatose state.

His eyes soon fluttered open again and he blinked. How long had he been asleep, if sleep that was? He had lost all concepts of time and space. For all he knew, months could have passed, or merely minutes.

Raising his chin, he looked around, trying to pinpoint his cause for waking. Nothing had changed, and Valar knew he was tired enough to sleep for a decade.

"Roth, come back…please come back..." Aragorn's voice drifted towards him, muffled and distant.

"Curse you Elf, you weak bastard! You just had to die, didn't you? We'll you're going to come back if it's the last thing I do." The vow was harsh, cutting. Ulfang wasn't pleased, Roth mused worriedly. That and the man's words were not exactly enticing. Rothinzil felt a strong urge just to remain dead, and not give this impetuous human any reasons to celebrate.

Even if he was scared of being alone, he wasn't so scared of being alone that he wanted to willingly walk back into the world of the living, a cell, darkness, pain, and an angry madman.

Besides, who said he had the option anyway? Didn't dead people stay dead? Of course, he reminded himself, he was sure that dead people also didn't hear disembodied voices. And all of those thoughts aside, he didn't feel crossed over any. Maybe he was in another dimension, but whatever this dimension was, it wasn't heaven and it wasn't hell.

"Roth, please! We need you –I need you …"

He wasn't going to go back, not and have to feel all the agony afresh. And besides, how would he get back? _Search me, I have no clue_, he grumbled nervously.

Of course, stubborn human that he wasn't, Aragorn had hardly given up. He couldn't hear Rothinzil's musings, all he knew was that he missed someone that he had accepted as a brother and that he wanted that someone back to the point where the agony of Rothinzil's vacant body was harsher than all his other wounds multiplied by a couple hundred. Physical pain he could teach himself to block out, but psychological pain would even haunt his dreams. "Roth, please! Legolas won't be the same without you…" There was a choking sound. Aragorn was stubbornly swallowing back tears. "And then…he'll die too."

Swallowing hard, Roth tasted the bitter venom that had sent him here. It was tart, purely disgusting stuff. And although all that lingered in his mouth was a frothy aftertaste, it was enough to bait his gag reflexes. Blood tasted better. Undoubtedly better.

"How will I be able to tell him that you're gone?" Aragorn's voice continued to muse with unbridled pain…. "How will I tell myself?"

Rothinzil shivered, feeling suddenly cold, despite the comforting haze. The atmosphere hadn't changed, but his mood had. He couldn't find peace here, not anymore. It felt like he wasn't meant to be here.

Multiple whispers mingled, forming a haunting sort of choir….a dreary chorus of prayers. Aragorn's voice was no longer singular along side Ulfang's harsh demand.

"I still need you Roth, so wherever you are, be safe…" Legolas' voice came, soft and discreet.

"I hope our paths cross again someday, Captain Rothinzil…." Thranduil's silent thought verbalized as it rose.

But the last voice he heard made him flinch.

"Don't leave me here alone, Roth! I love you! I can't live without you! Stay alive! I'm coming for you!" Helluin's prayer. It was urgent, demanding, and almost harsh in its adamancy.

It was all the encouragement Rothinzil needed.

:0Ї0:

There was a strategy to surviving captivity. Hrethel knew this.

By the same token, he also knew that the strategy, however well it might work with others, never worked while you were under Unferth's thumb. The man was impossibly unpredictable. About the only thing you could predict was that he was unpredictable, and that wasn't helpful no matter how you looked at it.

After thinking all this through logically, Hrethel decided he had nothing to lose by making himself nothing less than obnoxious to be with.

"Where do you think your brother and skulking friends are?" Unferth's snarl revealed his complete contempt and impatience. Nothing delicate about his personality.

Hrethel shrugged in his bonds. "Well if you lost them to begin with, what makes you think I am going to find them now? I am a little tied up at the moment."

His captor made an unintelligible growl. "You're still awfully cocky for someone between a rock and a hard place," he snapped, hand creeping down to his large hunting knife, which weighed on his heavy leather belt.

"I prefer "optimistic"."

Unferth came to the sudden conclusion that he was finished with patience, and finished with orders. He was the highest ranking general. No one else scared him –except for maybe Derufin, but that idiot was already neck deep in hot water (probably literally). Unless Ulfang came for him himself, which was doubtful, he had free reign.

Hrethel had been wondering when Unferth would come to this sort of conclusion. He had figured that it would happen soon, but he had not betted on it happening _this _soon. "I bet that hurts."

"What?" Unferth muttered, annoyed.

Hrethel looked mockingly sympathetic. "Thinking."

"It's no wonder your brat of a brother hasn't come for you yet!"

"Am I really that bad?"

Unferth didn't deign a direct answer. "If they won't come for you –I'll make them come for you."

Curious, Hrethel wondered just how exactly Unferth planned to do that. He didn't imagine that he would like the method very much at all.

He blinked, but when he opened his eyes he found his world had gone from crystal clear (with the occasional disruption of red), to a sea of blurry movements. His vision was failing. His whole body suddenly felt cold and his heart palpitated, as though fighting for life. Sounds started to sound distant and fade altogether. Helplessness….loneliness…fear…_No! NO! Not again! Not in front of that oaf…._. Unferth was going to have a field day with this…again.

He was having another attack –another tremor. How _had_ his brother managed to hide these successfully for years? Shuddering with the force of the attack on his weakening body, he came to the realization that maybe he had not been watching Hugin as well as he had originally thought. He couldn't have hidden something like this –not if someone had been watching carefully enough.

"Damn.." he murmured weakly.

He felt hands grabbing his clothing, shaking him, trying to preserve their captive. Coughing, he allowed his consciousness to slide. He wasn't going to stay awake to accept the abuse and taunts and anyway, he felt so very unnaturally tired.

:0Ї0:

Legolas had not tracked anything easier than Unferth, his men, and their unruly captive –and he had tracked some real blundering creatures. It was almost too easy. Who was he kidding? This was all way too easy –at least the tracking party. It wasn't natural and his Elven intuition –or maybe just common sense, didn't trust it. And besides, they weren't really going anywhere. He could still see Lake-Town without his Elven eyesight.

It was as though they were being waited on, hand and foot. "They are wanting us-"

"To track them?" Hugin finished, his face pasty, waning. "Yes, I believe that."

Helluin hugged herself, but if she was close to tears she was doing an excellent job of concealing it. Her face was flushed, and it was clear that all this trekking across country while having the extra weight of a baby was taking it's toll. Although, Legolas had to admit, she had not used her pregnancy as an excuse –legitimate as it would have been. Now, however, he felt he must put his foot down. "Helluin, you can go no further with us."

She glared at him, with that "I-am-pregnant-and-hormonally-unstable" look that usually sent sane people ducking for cover.

Legolas hurried to try and cushion his verdict. "No," he waved his hands placating. "I simply mean that in your –ah, condition, you are …well you are hurting more than you are helping."

Her glare intensified, along with the strength put into her clenched fists. "He gets to continue," she pointed accusingly at Hugin, who resembled death in so many ways that it was sort of disheartening to look at him. His illness was reaching its most debilitating point, and if Legolas was guessing correctly, he was going to die soon, ready or not.

Not sure what to say, but feeling something had to be said, Legolas pressed, "he's not pregnant. You are looking out for more than yourself –think of your baby. We can work fine without you, you needn't worry."

"Where do you expect me to go?" Exasperation had given her voice quite a cutting edge.

"Somewhere away from here –away from Lake town, away from the Lake itself really." In all fairness, Legolas wasn't sure himself what should be done. His people were too far away to help…much too far away. Elladan and Elrohir were probably no where near this region, at least not right now. And supposing that there were friends nearby that weren't captured or worse, he had no way of contacting them.

Helluin's lips set into a colorless, thin line of contempt.

Hugin finally plopped into the grass, unable to help himself –his leg muscles were reaching their limit. He wasn't going to allow himself to die yet, but he was willing to swallow enough pride to admit he needed rest. "Helluin…would Rothinzil or whoever he is, want you anywhere near all of this? Would he want the baby near all of this? If I were your husband I would pray for your common sense to stay out of danger, not run headlong into it."

Legolas shot him a meaningful glare, and Hugin looked off into the distance, as though searching for his brother. He looked heart broken.

Legolas knew the feeling.

"We're gaining on them," he murmured quietly. He decided he would have to talk Helluin out of danger later, she clearly was not in a listening mood.

Hugin nodded. "They want us to." He sighed, shaking his head. "Unferth doesn't have all the pieces he needs at this moment. He's likely to try something drastic. The man is as unpredictable, and unstable as a cat in snow. Emotions, they are all he needs to do something stupid."

"So do you think he wants us for himself, or for your king?"

"Doubtless, for himself, at least ultimately.," Hugin guessed. "He is the kind of man that always wants more…you know that hole inside, the one that seems insatiable? His is bigger than most…It has a vacuum of hate. I think that he truly believes that he will be happy once my brother and I are dead."

"You don't talk philosophically very often."

Hugin arched a dark brow challengingly. "Don't get used to it."

"So, hypothetically speaking, would he want to kill you himself…or just want the pleasure of watching you die?" Legolas asked softly, almost fearing the bluntness of his inquiry.

"I believe he would have to kill us himself –that is his desire. He would love for us to be executed, of course, but he will want a hand in it, that is certain." Hugin's voice had acquired a calm, detachedness too it. It was eerie, and almost soothing at the same time. "I want to die the way Hrethel dies, Legolas. That is why I am still here."

Waiting for death was his reason for living. Helluin and Legolas exchanged sympathetic glances.

Distancing himself from everyone, trying to encourage lucid thought, Legolas thought wryly that he felt like a fish being reeled in by some sadistic fisherman that enjoyed torturing the worms, or bait.

And that was when it occurred to him: that was exactly what was happening. Hrethel was the bait, and figuratively speaking, Unferth definitely counted as one sadistic, sociopath of a fisherman.

A wry voice behind him caused him to wince inwardly. "I think that maybe now you understand our situation a bit more clearly." Hugin's voice was grim and held no hope for himself, or his brother –or for anyone for that matter.

"I'm not resigning myself or my friends to anyone or anything –including a situation, just yet."

:0Ї0:

Hrethel blinked. He didn't know how long he had been out, all he knew was that it was long enough to find himself in a lot more trouble than he had been originally. _Wonderful_.

They were in a clearing, but it figured that Unferth had stumbled upon the one and only sturdy looking old tree for a mile or two. It also figured that Hrethel found himself bound precariously from one stout limb, dangling by his wrists. A worm on a hook, and he meant that comparison literally. He knew what Unferth was up to.

"You think my brother will come for me?" He hissed around the pain of his stretched, aching muscles and weakened body.

Unferth's smirk was filled with angry amusement. "I _know_ he will come for you."

"We're assassins, emotionless killers. Surely I think he can shrug this off." Hrethel looked up at his bonds and then into the dense, expressive green summer foliage swaying with the balmy breeze above him.

His captor tossed him a knowing look. "You haven't shut off emotion your whole life. You never mourned for those you killed, you never knew them, and you never cared. If you knew them, you would have mourned. You mourned for your family, didn't you? Your poor mother and foolish father? Hm? Yes, you did. It's what drove you to work for our dear king."

Hrehtel's face was unreadable.

Unferth continued his sneering tirade. "Oh yes, I know how you _hate_ orcs, and how you _hate_ Sauron worshipers. Yes, you hate them very much –just like our foolish king. And you worked for him. He raised you that way…took you in when you had no where else to go, t_rusted_ you, and you betrayed him. And why? Because of fear."

"I think you have me mistaken for my brother, actually-"

"I read his journal!"

"Oh, that-"

"Yes, that!" Unferth snapped, reminding Hrethel of some sort of rabid animal. "How he became sick, but he didn't want you to know. He didn't want anyone to know. He knew he would be thrown away, like a worthless tool –because that is all you guys ever were. You knew that."

Hrethel raised a brow. "I am failing to see your point here."

"You were always driven by emotion. Fear and hate. Those are two very powerful emotions, are they not? Interwoven, one leads to another and vice versa. You feared the orcs, you worked for the person who would keep them away –who promised redemption of your race, who promised freedom. And you hated the orcs, and those who opposed our dear king enough to kill to ensure Ulfang's supremacy. You never cared who you killed, or what you caused…not until you were afraid it would come back to you once you met someone more powerful than our king."

"I'm still-"

"You killed my brother, and you never knew!" Unferth spat furiously. "You never asked questions! You never cared! Not until you realized you might have to atone for your sins!" He was shaking from the exertion of his emotions and veins stood out from his neck in a sickening way.

Hrethel remained cool, collected, but inwardly he was wondering just how many enemies they had made this way. "I was wondering if this was your revenge. Your way of getting even…I just was wondering what it was for. Well at least now I know."

Unferth's rage continued to course through his body in untamed tremors.

"But you know," Hrethel continued, keeping his voice calculatingly even. "Your brother would have killed you. It doesn't matter. He was a traitor. He worshiped Sauron, who never did anything good for us. Hide behind your brother's death all you want: it's not the real reason. You're jealous, that's the real reason."

"No, that's only half. You want the _real_ reason? I hated the fact that the people I was the most jealous of, and hated the most did the most unforgivable thing to me that anyone could do and snatched the one person I had left out from under my nose! _That_, is what brought this down on your heads!!!" His voice had become venomous and he reminded the older twin of a cobra taking position to strike. His fangs were bared. He was insane.

"You hated Sauron as well," Hrethel inserted, seeing if maybe he couldn't pull the voice of reason back into this conversation.

His efforts were in vain.

"I hated Ulfang more –for choosing you and your brother over me! What made my brother and me any different? We were orphans! We were skilled fighters at our age!"

"You're head general-"

"I wanted more! My brother deserved more!"

"Well I can't help that. You aren't any better than me," Hrethel growled, becoming defensive. "You follow orders heedlessly all the time! How many lives have you wrecked? How much blood is on your hands? Don't get all righteous with me!"

"I'm not following orders now. Ulfang wanted you and your brother brought back alive –he wanted to disbelieve the journal. He wants to believe you are still on his side, because he is nothing without you two! The rebellion is failing. Sauron is regaining control!"

"So this is your round-about way of saying that you are going to kill me? Fine, have done."

"Oh not yet. When your brother and that pesky Elf come for you –then I will kill you. I will kill you, your brother and him both."

"You can never return to our people if you do that," Hrethel pointed out.

"I don't plan to return."

"So this _will_ have a happy ending…" The twin said almost gleefully, purposefully yanking on Unferth's chain.

The crazed Easterling just chuckled, derisive and cold. Gesturing encouragingly to his surrounding men, he grinned like a feral, hungry predator. "Come on boys," he jeered. "Let's have some sport with our dear assassin. We'll teach him to be humble. After all, what's in his blood that's not in ours?"

:0Ї0:

Sador was not a superstitious man, generally. He was a learned man of science, logic and reason. However, now that he had come to terms with the fact that his wife was completely and utterly possessed by a vengeful spirit of some sort, he was ready believe in a lot more –oracles included. Which is why he was here, standing on a cottage stoop.

The woman of the cottage was a known witch, and she wasn't trusted with good reason. She was disreputable, and had delivered more than her share of still babies –which may or may not have been her fault, but the fact remained. However, it was said that as a soothsayer, you couldn't ask for better. Right now. Sador desperately wanted to know what lay ahead. And maybe, there was an off chance that she would know a cure for his wife.

Rapping on the fragile looking wooden door with his ringed hand, he was surprised when it seemed to open of its own accord.

Creepy.

"I've been waiting for you, Master Sador."

Creepier.

**TBC….Muahahaha. **

**Alright, first of all, we just wanted to apologize for the length of our hiatus. We know it has been unbearably long, and completely unfair. Thanks for being suck loyal readers and sticking with us through thick and thin! We love you guys and hope we haven't lost any of you yet! We realize that the delay has made it difficult to keep the story in focus and we are terribly sorry and hope you can still follow the general plot. **

**And lastly, please review! They are what encourage us to finish this story, when our current post graduation life begs for the conservation of energy and a rearranging of priorities. So please, let us know what you think. We appreciate it, we truly do! **

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**Celeb and Tin**


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